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Joseph Lemuel Cheater, €sq- 

My Deae Sie, 

Allow me the pleasure of associating your 
name with this Worthy and my labours on his too 
little known Poetry. I like you for your English 
Puritan name and for your English face — that of 
I a brave gentleman ' all of the olden time ; I like 
you for your right and good service in writing for 
the first time adequately, the Life — a supremely 
noble and beautiful one — of ' John Eogers ' Proto- 
martyr of England, under Mary ; I like you as an 
American proud of your ancient lineage and 
unmixed English descent ; and I like you for your 
catholic literary sympathies and brother-hood. 
Moreover, with ' Sunny Memories' of my pilgrim- 
visits to shrines of the New World — human and 
of Nature — from the graves of my fellow-Scots, 
Alexander Wilson the Ornithologist and Poet and 


Leonine Dr. John Witherspoon, and the Homes 
and Haunts of David Brainerd and Jonathan 
Edwards, and Franklin and Washington, and of 
the illustrious Living, to the palace of Thunder of 
Niagara and scenes in fair Virginia all transfigured 
with the glory of Raleigh and other of the Eliza- 
bethan heroes — I must ever have a warm hand- 
clasp and heart-clasp for your mighty Country's 
masterful and most lavishly-kind countrymen. 

l>y-and-bye these Worthies will find their widest 
realm over the Atlantic. You will agree with 
me that it is well to get away o'times from the 
inevitable strivings and vulgarisms of the Present 
into the calm of — thank God — the changeless 


fours very cordially, 


J3 r c f a 1 r p fiotz. 

HE present Volume for the first time 
brings together the hitherto somewhat 
scattered and carelessly-kept Poems of 
Sie John Beaumont. East. It contains the whole 
of the Yolnmeof 1629, edited by his son ; and also 
a number of additions gathered from various 
sources, as told in the relative foot-notes. I have 
also reprinted the ' Metamorphosis of Tabacco ', 
from the solitary surviving copy preserved in the 
British Museum Library. These additions are 
marked with an asterisk [*] in the Contents. 

I indulge a hope that from some unexpected 
quarter — perchance an old Library of Leicester- 
shire — the certainly printed, if not published 
1 Crowne of Thornes ', will turnup. For more on 
it see our Memorial-Introduction : where will also 
be found curious details of a cancelled leaf in the 
volume of 1629. As an Appendix I give two 
poems by our Worthy's son and heir, Sir John 
Beaumont, Bart. 


The same principle has been acted on through- 
out this addition to our Library, as in the others : 
the text is reproduced in integrity, all original 
notes are faithfully given, under the initial B., 
with biographic and elucidatory additions, under 
my own initial, G., and noticeable words marked, 
and the like. The edition of 1629 was not very 
well overseen in printing, and still worse in its 
pointing. The more important misprints are noted 
in their places, others self-evident are corrected 
silently. The original arrangement is slightly 
departed from, by placing the poems on more or 
less sacred subjects as one class^ and all the trans- 
lations as another. I owe thanks to the present 
Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart., of Cole-orton 
Hall, Leicestershire, James Delano, Esq., London, 
W. Aldis Wright, Esq, M.A., Trinity College, 
Cambridge, J. Payne Collier, Esq., Maidenhead, 
J. L. Chester, Esq., of U.S.A., and S. Christie- 
Miller, Esq., of Brit well, for aid very pleasantly 
rendered. By the kindness of the Proprietors 
(Messrs. Boutledge) I am enabled to furnish (in 
large paper) Finden's exquisite steel-engraving 
of the Beaumont-home, Grace-dieu. 

A. B. G. 



I. Dedication iii — iv, 

II. Prefatory Note v — vi, 

III. Memorial-Introduction xi — lxv. 

IV. Note 2. 

V. Epistle-Dedicatory 3—4. 

VI. Preliminary Verses by Neuill, Hawkins, 

Sir John and Francis Beaumont, 
Fortescue, Ben. Jonson, Drayton, 

King and la. CI 5 — 21. 

-VII. Bosworth Field 23—63.- 

VIII. Sacred Poems 65—112 

(1) Vpon the two great feasts of the Ann- 
unciation and Kesurrection 67 — 68. 

- (2) Of the Epiphany 69—71. 

(3) Of the Transfiguration of our Lord . . . 71—72. 

(4) On Ascension Day 73. 

(5) An Ode of the Blessed Trinity 74—77. 

(6) A Dialogue betweene the World, a 

Pilgrime and Vertue 77 — 80. 

(7) An Act of Contrition 80—82. 

(8) In Desolation 82—85. 

(9) In Spiritual Comfort 85—87. 

(10) An Act of Hope 88—89. 

(11) Of Teares 89—90. 

(12) Of Sinne 90—92. 

(13) Of the miserable state of Man 92—95. 

(14) Of Sicknesse 95—96. 

(15) Of True Liberty 96—98. 

(16) Against inordinate loue of Creatures , . 98— 99. 



(17) Against abused Lone 99—105. 

(18) A description of Lone 105 — 107. 

(19) An expression of Sibyll's Acrostichs . . 107 — 109. 

(20) Virgil : Eclog IV 109—112. 

IX. Royal and Courtly Poems 113—171. 

(1) On the anniuersary day of his Maies- 

tie's Beigu oner England 115 — 116. 

(2) A Thanksgining for the delinerance of 

our Soueraigne 116 — 117. 

(3) To his late Maiesty, concerning the 121—127. 

true form of English Poetry 118—121. 

(4) To the glorious Memory of King James 121 — 127. 

(5) A Panegyrick at the Coronation of 

King Charles 127—130. 

(6) Of the Prince's Journey 130—13 

(7) Of the Prince's Departure and Returne 132. 

(8) Of the Prince's most happy Returne . . 132 — 13; 
N. Hooke to Amanda 134—135. 

(9) Upon the Anniuersary-day of the 

Prince's Returne 139 — 14' 

(10) Of the most excellent use of Poems .. . 140 — 14* 

(11) To the Prince 144—14. 

(12) An Epithalamium vpon the happy 

marriage of King Charles 145 — 14: 

(13) At the end of his Maiestie's first year : 

two sonnets 148 — 150. 

(14) An Epithalamium to Buckingham 150 — 152. 

(15) The Shepherdesse 152—156. 

(16) Of his Maiestie's Vow for the felicity 

of Buckingham 156. 

(17) My Lord of Buckingham's welcome 

to the King at Burley 157. 

(18) A congratulation on birth of Bucking- 

ham's daughter 157 — 158 

(19) Of line greatnesse 158—161. 

(20) Various poems on the Buckingham* . . 161 — 168. 

(21) To my Lord Purbeck .... for his health 169—171. 
X. Elegiac-Memorials op Worthies 173 — 207. 

(1) On Mrs. Neuell 175. 

(2) Of the truly noble Lady, the Lady* 

Marquesso of Winchester 176 — 180. 

Lady, dropped out in beading, inadvertently. G. 




(3) Vpon his noble friend, Sir William Skip- 

with 180—181. 

(4) An epitaph vpon my deare brother, 

Francis Beaumont 182. 

(5) Of my deare sonne, Geruase Beaumont 183. 

(6) Teares for the death of Lord Chandos. . 184 — 185. 

(7) Ypon the untimely death of the honour- 

able, hopefull young gentleman, Ed- 
ward Stafford 186—187. 

(8) To the memory of Edward, Lord Stafford 187—190. 

(9) To the memory of the learned and 

religious Ferdinando Poulton, Esq. . . 190 — 193. 

(10) To the immortal memory of Lady Clifton 193—197. 

(11) Ypon the death of the most noble Lord, 

Henry, earle of Southampton 198 — 201. 

(12) An Epitaph vpon the Lord "Wriothesley 202. 
; *(13) Of the death of the most noble the Lord 

Marquesse of Hamilton 203. 

*(14) Vpon a Funeralle 204. 

*(15) To the Authour [Francis Beaumont] . . 205. 
*(16) To my most esteemed friend, Master 

Thomas Collins 206, 

*(17) To the Translatour, [Sir Thomas Haw- 
kins]* 207. 

XL Translations -. 209—261 

(1) Juvenal : Satire X 211—231. 

'2) A Funerall Hymne out of Prudentius. . 231—237. 
3) An Epigram concerning Man's life : 

composed by Crates or Posidippus . . 238. 

(4) The Answer of Metrodorus 239—240. 

(5) Horace : Lib. 2. Sat. 6 240—247. 

(6) „ Carm. Lib. 3. Od. 29 247—249. 

(7) „ Epod. 2 250—252. 

(8) Persius : Satire 2 253—257. 

(9) Ausonius : Idyll 16 258—259. 

, (10) Claudian's Epigram of the old Man of 

Yerona 259—261. 

* No 15—17 are not 'Elegiac', but naturally bake their place 
nong ' Memorials '. Gr. 




*XIJ. Metamorphosis of Tabacco 275 — 321. 

(1) Note 264—265. 

* (2) Dedication to Drayton 266 

»(3) Preliminary Verses 267—273. 

XIII. Appendix : Poems by Sir John 

Beaumont, Bart, son of the 

Poet 321—332. 

*(1) To the memory of Lim who can never 
be forgotten, Master Beniamin John- 
son 325—328, 

*(2) To the memory of Edward King [ s Ly- 

cidas* of Milton] 328-332 

XIV. ErrataI'Note 333 


OTJ have opposite our title-page, 1 a daintily- 
rendered view of the ruins — Bancroft's 
" grand relic", 2 and Mchols's " noble 
fragment " 3 — of Grace-Dieu : and what the rage 
of man and the teeth of Time have done on the 
originally grand and indeed magnificent religious 
House, has been done, even more sorrowfully and 
irrevocably in the family papers. So that with 
1 gentle ' as with t simple ' it is found hard to 
recover memorials of our Worthy — as Darley 4 
and Dtce 5 and others had to lament in trying 
to keep in remembrance the greater name and 
fame of his younger brother, Fbancis Beaumont, 

1 In large paper copies only. 

2 See lines onward a little. 

3 Nichols's Leicestershire, iii., 651. 

4 Memoir prefixed to his Beaumont and Fletcher. 

5 Memoir prefixed to his Beaumont and Fletcher : 
Vol. i. 


the Dramatist — to whose memory our Sir Johu 
dedicated some of his most pathetic verses. 

Grace-dieu is beautifully situated — lying low 
in a valley, upon a little brook, — in what was 
formerly one of the most recluse spots in the cen- 
tre of Charnwood Forest — within a little distance 
of the turn-pike road that leads from Ashby-de-la- 
zouch to Loughborough. It stands within the 
parish of Belton, but ecclesiastically in the deanery 
of Akeley. 

Its name, Grace Dieu, — in Latin de Gratia Dei 
— recals the pre-Eeformation times, and its pre- 
sent re-possession by a Roman Catholic Family 
(Phillips), curiously confirms the old creed of 
indelibility or indefeasibility. The Foundress of 
the ' Nunnery ' and the giver of the name, was 
one Eoesia de-Verdun, daughter and co-heir of 
Nicholas, Lord Yerdon — reaching away back to 
1236 and 1247. Wide-brained and saintly Bishop 
Grosseteste and the earlier Henries, come up in 
connection with the Foundation. I must refer all 
antiquarianly-disposed to Nichols* Leicester shire, 
where will be found abundant details, from Agn 
de Gresley first prioress and Mary de Stretton, to 
John Comin, Earl of Buchan. 3 

l As before, Vol. iii., 655— 661* et alibi. Where i 
reference is not given, Nichole it mj authority 


Thomas Bancroft, tlie Epigrammatist, thus 
sketches Grace-dieu as associated with the Beau- 
monts : l 

" Grace-dieu, that under Charnwood stand' st alone, 

As a grand Relicke of Eeligion, 

I reverence thine old, but fruitfull, worth, 

That lately brought such noble Beaumonts forth : 

"Whose brave Heroick Muses might aspire 

To match the Anthems of the Heavenly Quire : 

The mountaines crown'd with rockey fortresses, 

And sheltering woods, secure thy happinesse, 

That highly favour' d art — though lowly plac'd — 

Of Heaven, and with free Nature's bounty grac'd : 

Herein grow happier ; and that blisse of thine 

Nor Pride ore-top, nor Envy undermine !" 

John Beaumont, Esq., of not distant Thringston, 
was the first Beaumont- owner of the venerable 
Priory. He obtained a grant of the site. He had 
been appointed by the king's writ — January 30th, 
1534-35 — to "take the ecclesiastial survey of the 
county of Leicestershire :" 2 and in association 
with Drs. Leigh and Lay ton, he i reports ' — as 
told in the ' Compendium Compertorum' — charges 
of ' incontinentia ' (alas !) and ' superstitio ' 

1 Two Bookes of Epigrammes and Epitaphs, &c. 
(1639) B i. Ep. 81. 

2 Nichols, as before, 


against Elizabeth Hall and Catharina Ekesildena, 
1 nuns ' — the latter because of veneration paid to 
the girdle and part of the tunic of St. Francis. 
The great strong wall, with which the Priory 
was c compassed ' and the garden in resemblance 
of Gethsemaue, failed — I fear — to keep out the 
three enemies, " the world, the devil, the flesh ". 
Be this as it may, Grace-dieu was included in the 
Suppression of 1536. Agnes Litherland was the 
last Prioress. There were delays in consummat- 
ing the Suppression : but it was finally surrendered 
on October 27th, 1539. In that year it was 
granted to Sir Humphrey Foster, Knight, who 
thereupon conveyed it to John Beaumont, gent — 
oddly mispelled Bewman. Mr. Beaumont seems 
to have been interrupted in the possession of his 
newly-acquired property by a claim on the part of 
the Earl of Huntingdon. A vigorous remonstra- 
tive Letter to Lord Cromwell remains, reminding 
of the transition period. He is very earnest, 
indeed vehement : "for I do feyre" he says, "the 
seyd erle and his sonns do seke my lyfe, and all 
for the truthe sake." 1 In 1541 this John Beau- 
mont was cited to shew by what title he held the 

1 Wright's Letters relating to the Suppression of 
Monasteries, p. 251. 


Priory of Grace-dieu. Disputes went on for a 
number of years, and only closed apparently, by 
intermarriages of the Families concerned. In 
1550, Johk Beaumont, Esquire, was elected Ee- 
corder of Leicester, and in the same year (Dec. 3) 
Master of the Eolls. In 1551 a fine, with pro- 
clamation, was levied on the lordship, by the 
Master of the Eolls, to the use of King Edward 
VI. and his successors : and perplexingly, the 
Earl of Huntingdon in 1552 " did get a fee-farm 
of the manor-house of Grace-dieu and the whole 
manor and grange, called Myral Grange.'' On 
the accession of Mary " the Bloody" — pity so 
sacred and softly-sweet a name should have 
epithet so dark ! — the ' Eecorder ' and ' Master ' 
lost his offices — to him a favorably significant fact. 1 
John Beaumont was married twice. Eirst to Isabel, 
daughter of Lawrence Dutton, Esq., of Dutton, co. 
Chester, by whom he had two daughters, Dorothy 
and Anne. Secondly, to Elizabeth, eldest daughter 
and coheir of Sir "William Hastings, younger 
brother to George, Earl of Huntingdon, by whom 
he had issue, viz,, Elizabeth, who was married to 
"William, Lord Vaux of Harrowden — Jane — Eran- 

1 Nichols's Leicestershire, as before, Vol. III., Pt. II., 
pp 651 — *664. 


cis, his successor, and Henry, who died unmarried, 
and was buried at Temple Church, London. 
Within five years of the death of her husband, 
Elizabeth Beaumont claimed and obtained posess- 
ion of Grace-dieu : and in 1574 Henry, Earl of 
Huntingdon, reciting the conveyance of Sir 
Humphrey Poster to John Beaumont and Eliza- 
beth Beaumont and their heirs, confirmed and 
ratified it all — and so ended protracted disputes 
and counter-rights. 

The family by direct lineage and marriage was 
ancient and honourable and i generosus.' Darley 
has pointed out that the name, in common with 
Fletcher, is French \_Beau-Mont and Flechier~] — 
indicating a foreign extraction. 1 The extraction 
is historical, not mythic-heraldic, being directly 
traceable to the earl of Meulan or Mellent, 
of Beaumont in Normandy, who as a reward 
for valour displayed at the battle of Hastings, 
was given many i lordships ' by the Conqueror, 
and subsequently created earl of Leicester by 
Henry the I s * — no fewer than sixteen of his 
1 lordships ' lying within the county. Kobert de 
Beaumont, earl of Leicester, fills a large space in 
the county, if indeed it might not be said, the 

1 As "before. 


national history of his age : and so onward in 
Robert Bossu, i.e. the Hunchback, the friend of 
Thomas a Becket, and Robert Blanchmains i. e. 
Robert with the White Hands, son and grandson 
respectively, and all through gentle and noble 
marriages — not without tragic and pathetic alter- ^ 
nations, as in Hugh, surnamed Pauper, the 
youngest son of Robert de Beaumont, earl of 
Leicester, who fell from the rank of Earl of Bed- 
ford to that of knight, and finally became (literally) 
a beggar. On the other hand there were exalt- 
ations, as besides above Robert, Waloran became 
earl of Mellent, and of the (five) daughters, one 
married Strongbow, earl of Pembroke, and two 
to members of the house of Simon de Montfort. 
Beaumont is thus unquestionably an ancient and 
illustrious Norman name — its other form, Bello- 
mont, being only a corruption or abbreviation of 
the Latin (He Bellomonte) employed by the monk- 
ish-historians, and used by Philip King in his 
Latin-verses in memory of our Worthy. Wace 
and William of Poitiers, Benoit de Saint More 
and Hollinshed, and Thierry in his l . History of 
the Conquest of England by the Normans, ' have 
burnished the names of many Beaumonts. Of 
the first connected with England, viz., above, 
Robert de Beaumont, Henry of Huntingdon says, 


"he was in worldly affairs the wisest of all men 
betwixt England and Jerusalem ; eminent for 
knowledge, plausible of speech, keen and crafty, 
a subtle genius, of great foresight and prudence, 
not easily over-reached, profound in council, and 
of great wisdom.'' It is much to be wished that 
living Beaumonts would do for their family-history 
what has been done so admirably for the Lindsays 
by Lord Lindsay and for the Manchesters by the 
Duke of Manchester. Born and resident in Leices- 
tershire and within the territories of the original 
Beaumonts, there can be no doubt that our Poet's 
family belonged to them in one or other of their 
manifold branches. 1 

Francis, the first-born son of John Beaumont, 
succeeded his father. He was brought up 
to the Law. 2 He was appointed one of the Justices 
of the Common Pleas, 25th January, 1592-93, and 
subsequently he received the dignity of knight- 
hood. 3 Burton terms him " that grave, learned, 
and reverend judge". 4 He married Anne, 

1 See for these details and references, Thompson's 
"History of Leicester" [1849] pp 27—61 el alibi. 

2 Nichols, as before : and Dyce's Memoir of Beaumont, 
as before. 

3 As in 2. 

4 Quoted in Nichols, as before. 


daughter to Sir George Pierrepoint, of Holme- 
Pierrepoint, co. Notts., knight, and relict of 
Thomas Thorold, of Marston, co. Lincoln, esq., — 
the name of Pieekepoist recalling that from the 
same stock sprang in England, Lady Mary Wort- 
ley Alontagu, and over the Atlantic, the mother 
of America's greatest Thinker, Jonathan Edwaeds. 
His family by her, consisted of Elizabeth, who 
ultimately married Thomas Seyliard, of Kent: 1 
and by the way, Francis Beaumont, it will be 
remembered also went to Kent for his wife, — 
fetching his Ursula from Sundridge, — and three 
sons, Henry, John, and Francis. John is our 
Worthy. His father died at Grace-dieu, April 
22nd, 1598. His Will — wherein he specially 
remembered troops of lowly friends, his servants, 
— was made only the day before, and the inquisi- 
tion, taken June 8th following, recounts that he 
was " seised of the house and site of Grace-dieu 
aforesaid, of divers lands in the parish of Belton, 
Grace-dieu, Meriel, Shepeshed, Osgathorpe, 
Thringston, and Swannington." 2 

1 MS. Visitation of Kent, 1619, College of Arms, as 
cited by Dyce, as before, p xxi. He corrects Nichols* 
blunder of " Hilyard " for " Seyliard." 

2 The Will is given in extevso in Dyce, as before, Vol, 
I. pp lxxxix-xc. 


Henry Fletcher, the eldest son of Judge Fletcher 
enjoyed his inheritance only a brief period. He 
died in 1605 aged 24 — having been knighted in 
16C3. 1 John, our Poet, in turn, succeeded him. 
He was born — no doubt at the family-seat of 
Grace-dieu — in 1582 or 1583. There are no 
entries of the baptisms of the Eeaumonts — neither 
of our Worthy nor of Francis — the explanation 
being that the rite would most naturally be cele- 
brated in the Metropolis, where the Judge must 
have had a residence. But the birth-year is 
approximately found from the Funeral- Certificates 
in the College of Arms, whereby we leam that 
John Beaumont, " second sonne " was " at the 
tyme of the death of his father [22nd April, 
1598] of the age of foureteen yeares or there- 
aboutes" This takes us back by the Old Style to 
1582-3. Of his School and home-training nothing 
has come down. Probably along with his elder 
brother Henry, and his younger Francis, and only 
sister Elizabeth, his education was private. 
Whether or no, the three brothers in 1596 pro- 
ceeded to Oxford and entered as " gentlemen 

1 "Sir Henry Beaumont, knight, "buried 13th day of 
Julie, anno domini, L606. Belton Church Register, in 
Dyce, as before, p. xxi. 


commoners " in Broadgate's Hall " in the begin- 
ning of Lent-term " : (4th February, 1596-7.) 
Anthony a- Wood designates John as then " aged 
14 ", which agrees with the other authority above. 1 
Broadgates-Hall — on the site of which Pembroke 
College now stands — was the principal nursery in 
Oxford for students of the civil and common Law. 
None of the brothers appears to have resided long 
in Oxford : and all quitted the University without 
taking any degree. Francis, the Dramatist, was 
entered a member of the Inner Temple, 3rd Novem- 
ber, 1600 : and our Poet is also usually stated to 
have entered " one of the Inns of Court." 2 I have 
failed to trace him there. If ever he took up 
residence, he soon quitted it : in all liklihood on 
succeeding to the family-estates on the death of 
Sir Henry, his elder brother, in 1605. 

During his College residence, and in London, 
he must have begun his poetic studies. " In his 
youth" says Wood and the Biographia Britannica 
and other authorities " he applied himself to the 
Muses, with good success". 3 "When in his 20th 
year (1602) he published anonymously, his i Meta- 

1 Athen. Oxon. (by Bliss) II. 437: (See also pp. 

2 Dyce, as before, p. xxii. 

3 Biog. Brit. (1747), Vol. i., *. »., p. 621. 


morphosis of Tabacco ' — a mock heroic-poem : and 
prefixed to it, among others, were dedicatory lines 
to Michael Drayton, and the first published 
Verses of his brother Francis, the illustrious 
associate of Fletcher. Both are very noticeable 
and therefore must be adduced here : 


" My new-borne Muse assaies her tender wing, 
And where she should crie is enforst to sing : 
Her children prophesie thy pleasing rime 
Shall neuer he a dish for hungrie Time : 
Yet be regardlesse what those verses say, 
Whose infant mother was hut borne to day." 


Ad mare riuuli 




The tender labour of my wearie pen, 

And doubtfull triall of my first-borne rimes, 

Loaths to adorne the triumphs of those men, 

Which hold the raines of fortunes, and the times : 

Only to thee, which art with ioy possest 

Of the faire hill, where troupes of Poets stand, 

1 Sec our Volumo, p. 272. 


Where thou enthron'd with laurell garlands blest, 
Maist lift me vp with thy propitious hand ; 

I send this poe'me, which for nought doth care, 
But words for words, and loue for loue to share.l 

Prom these and after- Yerses commendatory, to the 
(posthumous) volume of 1629, our Poet must 
early have passed within the l charmed circle ' 
of the Mermaid, and won the friendship — trans- 
mitted to his son, 2 of Ben Jonson and other of the 
immortals. To vivify our realisation of the 
glorious company, I will here set down Prancis 
Beaumont's description of their Wit- combats : 

" What things have we seen 

Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 

So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 

As if that every one from whom they came 

Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, 

And had resolv'd to live a fool the rest 

Of his dull life ; then when there hath been thrown 

Wit able enough to justify the town 

For three days past ; wit that might warrant be 

For the whole city to talk foolishly, 

1 Ibid, p. 226. 

2 See Appendix to our Volume for our Poet's son's 
strong-thoughted Yerses to the memory of Jonson, pp. 
325—328. The wonder is that Shakespeare should be 
unnamed. G. 


Till that were canceled ; aiid when that was gone 

We left an air behind us, which alone 

Was able to make the two next companies 

(Eight witty, thongh but downright fools) mere wise/'l 

Let the Reader turn now to Jonson's some- 
what laboured but thought-packed ' Lines ', and 
ponder the tribute, from the splendid honour of 
its first words " This book shall live" to the 
close. 2 It is the more interesting — if that be not 
too poor a word — to take note of this friendship, 
because if I am not much mistaken, Jonson was 
indebted to our Poet for probably the most memor- 
able couplet in his ever-memorable Verses on the 
Portrait of Shakespeare, prefixed to the folio of 
1623. We may read them and dwell on the 
italicized lines : 

"To the Reader. 
This Figure, that thou here seest put, 
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; 
Wherein the Grauer had a strife 

1 Works of Beaumont and Fletcher by Dyco, as 
before, Vol. xi. pp. r>01-502: Darley, as before, in line 
seventh ivads 'known' for ' thrown ' and in last line 
'mero ' wise. Probably the latter in tho truo reading ancL 
meaning as adopted hy Seward and in text. 

2 See our Volume, pp. 15-10. 


With Nature, to out-doo the life : 
O, could lie but haue drawne his wit 

As well in brasse, as lie hath hit 
His face ; the Print would then surpasse 

All, that was euer writ in brasse. 
But, since he cannot, Eeader, looke 

Not on his Picture, but his Booke." 

Surely the italicized lines from Sir John Beau- 
mont's Elegy " to the immortal! memory of the 
fairest and most vertuous Lady Clifton " in 1613, 
— or ten good years before the Shakespeare inscrip- 
tion — must have been read or heard, and lingered 
in Ben's capacious memory, consciously or uncon- 
sciously ? 

" Ah why neglected I to write her prayse, 
And paint her vertues in those happy dayes ! 
Then my now trembling hand and dazled eye, 
Had seldome fail'd, hauing the patterne by : 
Or had it err'd, or made some strokes arnisse, 
— For who can portray Yertue as it is ? — 
Art might with Nature haue maintained her strife. 
By curious lines to imitate true life?\ 

I am not aware that this hit of Shakesperiana has 
before been noticed. My ear can't get quit of an 
echo in the mightier lines from the earlier. 

1 See the entire poem in our Volume, pp 193—197. 


I have stated that our Poet published the 
' Metamorphosis of Tahacco ' in 1602. There can 
be but little doubt of the authorship. The late 
George Chalmers possessed a copy of the poem, on 
the title-page of which was written in a contem- 
porary hand " By John Beaumont." 1 In accord 
with this, is the dedication of it to Drayton, and 
the initials of the various commendatory verses 
prefixed. Those by P. B. unquestionably belong 
to his brother the Dramatist. 2 Besides, the ' Met- 
amorphosis ' is the main poem that answers to 
Sir Thomas Hawkins' happy characterisation of 
his various- sided genius, as ' sportive ' as well as 
'serious' e.g. 

" Nor lesse delight — things serious set apart — 

Thy sportiue poems yeeld, with heedfull art 

Composed so, to minister content, 

That though we there thinke onely wit is meant, 

We quickly by a happy error, find 

In cloudy words, cleare lampes to light the mind.*'3 

In the same year — 1602 — with the publication of 
the ' Metamorphosis of Tabacco ', appeared — also 

1 Dyco, as before, p. xxiii. 

2 See our Volume p 272. 

3 See the whole poem in our Volume, pp — 9. 


anonymously — the somewhat famous volume 
called "Salmacis and Hermaphroditus". I think 
few will disagree with Mr. Dyce in opposition to 
Mr. Collier, in pronouncing this the genuine pro- 
duction of Francis Beaumont. Among the com- 
mendatory yerses prefixed to " Salmacis and Her- 
maphroditus " is a copy signed LB. which seems 
plainly to belong to the elder brother, our Poet. 1 

Briefly resident in one of the Inns of Court — 
if indeed it was so — he retired to his family-seat 
of Grace-Dieu. 2 When he did so, and for years 
subsequent, he lacked one element of the Poet's 
inspiration — a ' lady-love \ This comes out in 
his lines " Against abused Loue." Thus : 

" How can I write of Lone, who neuer felt 

His dreadful arrow ; nor did euer melt 

My heart away before a female flame, 

Like waxen statues, which, the witches frame."* 

1 Dyce, as before, pp xxiii-iv., and see Mr. Collier's 
Life of Shakespeare and Bibl. Account, s. n. 

2 In the Will of Sir Henry Beaumont, which was 
proved 3rd February, 1605-6, the 'surplusage' of his 
property not otherwise assigned, was " to be devided into 
twoe partes," whereof " one parte " went to his ' sister ' and 
the other was " to be equallie devided " between the two 
brothers " John and Francis." Dyce, as before, p xxvii, 

3 See our Volume pp 101-102. 


But he escaped not the inevitable and delicious 
woe of woman. For he married a ' faire ladye ' 
of the family of Fortescue — her brother George 
Fortescue, Esq., adding a grateful and graceful 
commendatory to the others in the volume of 
1629. 1 By her he had four sons — John, Francis, 
Gervase, and Thomas. The first, — who succeeded 
his father, — was a man of extraordinary strength, 
a kind of English Grettir the Strong : it being 
reported by old men who knew him that " he did 
leap sixteen feet at one leap, and would commonly, 
at a stand-leap, jump over a high long table in 
the hall, light on a settle beyond the table, and 
raise himself straight up." 2 He was not without 
a vein of the true poetic faculty, if deficient in the 
music of utterance. To him we are indebted for 
the precious volume of 1629, and among other 
things, for a well-put tribute to his " deare father." 
He fell at the siege of Gloucester, in the service 
of the king, in 1644. 3 Francis — sometimes con- 
founded with his uncle, as he in turn, by Anthony 
a- Wood and others, has been confounded with 
another Francis Beaumont — of the family of the 

1 See our Volume pp 10-12. 

2 Nicholw, as before : iii, Pt. 2nd, p 659, 

3 Ibid and Dyee, ae before. 


Beaumontsof Cole-orton and who died Master of the 
Charter-House in 1624 — became a Jesuit. 1 It is 
much to be wished that more were known of him. 
His Verses in honour of his father are delicately 
affectionate. A portrait is assigned to him in 
Mchols' Leicestershire. 2 The authenticity of this 
assignation requires confirmation. The whole 
look of it disposes me to think the portrait rather 
represents our Sir John Beaumont. Gervase* 
died in his seventh year : and infinitely pathetic,, 
soft and also strong as tears, is his father's poem 
to his memory. The Archbishop of Dublin,. 
(Trench) has selected it as one of the jewels of 
that Casket of Jewels, his " Household Book o£ 
English Poetry " (1868). It is a curious coinci- 

1 Wood's Athene Oxon. by Bliss II. 434-5. 

2 As before, p *662. The present Sir George H.- 
Beaumont, Bart., of Coleorton Hall, informs me that he 
has " a picture of a boy, holding a bow, with a ruff round 
his neck — apparently of the time of Elizabeth/' and that 
this picture is called in his Catalogue " Yiscount Beau- 
mont, killed at the battle of Towton." On this Sir 
George remarks " I think this must be a mistake, as the 
arms are in the corner with an Esquire's helmet." He- 
seems disposed to consider it a portrait of our Sir John 
Beaumont : but as a * boy/ the after- Viscount might only 
"be represented as an Esquire. 


dence, and one that would bind the two friends all 
the closer, that Een Jonson's first-born also died 
at seven years (in 1603) : 

" Seven years thou were lent to me." i 

Thomas ultimately came into possession of the 
title and family-property. 

It is usually stated — even by Dyce — that our 
"Worthy's poetry was produced in his earlier 
years. The dates of various of his Elegies and 
other Verses, disprove this. He seems to have 
gone on singing to the close. It was self-evident- 
ly his ambition and resolute purpose to win a 
name as a Poet. There is the ring of Milton's 
lofty ideal in incidental revelations of his yearning 
after a true Poet's renown, as in this great line, 

" No earthly gift lasts after death, but Fame." 2 

It is here I find the solution of the imagined- 
obscure if not enigmatical and mysterious allusion, 
of Michael Drayton. That then aged Poet in the 
Verses ref cried to, utters a kind of quiet ' Vanitas 
Vanitatum ' over his own ' with' ring bayes ' 

1 Works by Qxfpobd viii. 175 

2 Bee our Volume p ( J4, 


specifically, and on the thirst after celebrity 
generally. Hence his plaintive memorial-words 
of our Poet, must be interpreted as bearing the 
same burden. The Eeader will do well to study 
the Verses as a whole. 1 This couplet may suffice 
here : 

" Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath, 
Brought on too soon thy much lamented death." 

Over-studiousness and ' o'er-informing of the clay' 
through an over-hunger after Fame, gives the 
meaning of this cynic -touched lament. Bishop 
Corbet indeed, had put the thing more directly, of 
our Poet's brother Francis, on his premature 
death — being within 30 — in the celebrated line 

" Wit's a disease consumes men in few years/' 2 

Deayton is an authority : for he was a bosom- 
friend of both the Beaumonts, as witness in one 
of his well-known Epistles, viz., to Reynolds, 
' Of Poets and Poetry ' of them and the author of 
1 Britannia's Pastorals ' : 3 

1 13*7* pp 17-18. 

2 Poems (1672) p 68. 

3 The Works of William Browne have at last been 
worthily reproduced by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt in his Eox- 
"burghe Library: (2 vols.) As Browne's biography is 



" Then the two Beaumonts, and my Browne arose, 
My dear companions, whom I freely chose 
My bosom-friends ; and in their several ways 
Rightly born poets, and in these last days 
Men of much note, and no less nobler parts ; 
Such as have freely told to me their hearts 
As I have mine to them.'* 

Very touching, and in the same groove of thought, 
is our Poet's own ' Epitaph on his deare brother 
Francis Beaumont/ as here : 

u Thou shouldst haue followed me, but Death to blame, 
Miscounted yeeres, and measur'd age by fame. 
So dearely hast thou bought thy precious lines, 
Their praise grew swiftly : so thy life declines :*'i 

Our Singer indubitably put forth his whole 
strength in his " Crowne of Thornes," a "poem 
in eight books ". If only we were fortunate 
enough to recover it, the Poem would prove, I 
feel assured, a profound-thoughted and tender- 
feelinged and musically-worded addition to our 
scant sacred Poetry. It is tantalizing to read his 

meagre, I record here that in Samuel Austin's " Vrania M 
(1629) is a striking appeal to him, as to Drayton, to turn 
his mind to s;icred poetry. Air. llazlitt has overlooked this. 
1 See our Volume p 182. 


own allusions to it : and scarcely less so those of 
Snt Thomas Hawxiks. I give them here. First 
the Poet's own, in his admirable Elegy on Shakes- 
peare's Earl of Southampton : 

•' I keep that glory last, which is the best : 
The loue of learning, which he oft exprest 
By conuersation, and respect to those 
Who had a name in artes, in verse or prose : 
Shall euer I forget with what delight 
He on my simple lines would cast his sight ? 
Sis onely memory my poor e worke adornes 
Se is a father to my crowne of t homes : 
Novj since his death how can I euer looke, 
Without some teares vpon that orphan boohe ? 
Te sacred Muses, if ye will admit 
My name into the roll, which ye haue writ 
Of all your seruants, to my thoughts display 
Some rich receipt, some vnirequented way, 
Which may hereafter to the world commend 
A picture fit for this my noble friend : 
For this is nothing, all these rimes I scorne ; 
Let pens be broken, and the paper torne : 
And with his last breath let my musick cease, 
Vnlesse my lowly poem could increase 
In true description of immortall things, 
And rays' d aboue the earth with nimble wings, 
Fly like an eagle from his fun* rail fire, 
Admir'd by all, as all did him admire." 

Mark the close. It seems to intimate that the 


book was just printed and ready for issue, dedi- 
cation and all : l 

Next, Sir Thomas Hawkins : 

" Like to the bee, thou didd'st those flow'rs select, 

That most the tastefull palate might affect, 

With pious relishes of things diuine, 

And discomposed sence with peace combine, 

Which — in thy Crowne of Thornes — we may discerne, 

Fram'd as a modell for the best to learne 

That verse may Vertue teach as well as prose, 

And minds with natiue force to good dispose, 

Deuotion stirre, and quicken cold desires, 

To entertaine the warmth of holy fires. 

There may we see thy soule exspaciate, 

And with true feruour sweetly meditate, 

Vpon our Sauiour's sufferings ; that while 

Thou seek'st His painefull torments to beguile, 

With well-tun' d accents of thy zealous song 

Breath'd from a soule transfix'd, a passion strong, 

We better knowledge of His woes attaine, 

Fall into teares with thee, and then againe, 

Rise with thy verse to celebrate the flood 

Of those eternall torrents of His blood." 2 

Read in the light of his extant sacred Poems — 
so thought-full, rich, solemn, vivid, and of the 
cimningest workmanship — our sense of loss in the 

1 Seethe whole Poem in this Volume, pp 198 — 201. 

2 Bee this Volume for the whole poem pp 6—0. 


u Crowne of Thornes " is keen-edged and passion- 
ate I understand the Poet's own references and 
Hawkins's, as declaring publication of the Poem 
or at least as designating a privately-printed im- 
pression, accessible to more or fewer. This being 
so, especially in the knowledge of (literally) scores 
of others, earlier and contemporary and later, that 
survive in single exemplars only, — I shall 
cherish the * Pleasures of Hope ' of the Poem 
emerging from some hiding-place. May they not 
prove the ' Pleasures of Imagination ! u 

Of literary habits and tastes — as probably of a 
shy and retiring disposition — our Worthy seems 
to have dedicated daily selected and sequestered 
hours, to their satisfaction. "We get a glimpse of 
him at these studies in a hitherto overlooked 
Letter, prefixed to the " Elements of Armories " 
(1601) by Edmund Bolton. The book is now 
rare. It consists of a Dialogue between two 

1 I regard books like Mr, Collier's ' Bibliographical 
Account" (2 vols. 8vo. 1865) and Mr. Hazlitt's "Hand- 
Book", as about the most humiliating in the language. 
Scarcely a page but tells of some treasure overlooked, 
gone out of sight, yet of as real intellectual bullion as 
ever lost and recovered coin of the Henries. I hold 
myself, precious books of which no other copy ia known. 


Knights, Sir Eustace and Sir Amias. The Letter 
follows, verbatim : with best thanks to Mr. W. 
Aldis Wright of Cambridge for calling my atten- 
tion to it : 

" A Letter to the Author, from the learned young 
gentleman, I. B. of Grace-dieu in the County of 
Leicester, Esquier. 

Syr, I haue here with many thanks returned to you, 
your profound discourse of the Elements of Armories, 
which I haue read ouer with great profit and delight : for 
I confesse, that till now, I neuer saw any thing in this 
kind worthy the entertainment of a studious mind, wherin 
you haue most commendably shewed your skill, finding out 
rare and vnknowne beauties in an Art, whose highest 
perfection, the meanest wits, if they could blazon, and 
repeat pedigrees, durst heretofore (but shall not now) 
challenge. Our sight (which of all senses wee hold ye 
dearest) you haue made more precious vnto vs, by teaching 
vs the excellent proportions of our visible obiects. In 
performance wherof, as you haue followed none, so haue 
you left it at a rash, and desperate aduenture, for any to 
follow you. For he that only considers your choice 
copie of matter, without forcing, will find it an hard task 
to equall your inuention, not to spcake of your iudiciall 
method, wherin you haue made your workmanship cxcell 
your subi< ct, though it bee most worthy of all ingenuous 
industry. Beleeue me, Syr, in a word, I cannot but highly 
admire your attempl so we] performed, and among many 
others will be an earn out furtherer of that benefit, which 


this dull age of ours (in this our countrey, carelesse of al 
but gainful Arts) claimeth at your hands. In which hope 
I rest. 

Your most louing friend, 

Iohn Beavmont.' , 
26. Nouemb. 1609. 

Turning elsewhere, our Poet incidentally informs 
us that it was the Duke of Buckingham who first 
drew him into publicity. Thus in his " True 
greatnesse : to my lord Marquesse of Bucking- 
ham/ 7 he addresses him : 

" Sir, you are truely great, and euery eye 
Not dimme with enuy, ioyes to see you high : 
But chiefely mine, which buried in the night, 
Are by your beames rais'd and restored to light. 
You, onely you, haue pow'r to make me dwell 
In sight of men, drawnefrommy silent cell." 1 

Again, in his lines " to the Duke of Buckingham 
at his returne from Spaine " we have the same 
sentiments : and an intimation that by him the 
King (James), had been led to read his ' lines ' : 

44 My Muse, which tookefrom you her life and light 
Sate like a weary wretch, whom suddaine night 
Had ouer-spred ; your absence casting downe 
The flow'rs and Sirens' feathers from her crown e : 

1 See pp 158—161. 

XXXV 111. 


Your fauor first th' anointed head inclines 
To heare my rurall songs and reade my lines : 
Your voyce, my reede with lofty musick reares, 
To offer trembling songs to princely eares."i 

We have already seen that the Earl of South- 
ampton was another of his patrons and friends. 
His Elegies — of varying worth, but none without 
some choice thought or felicitous epithet — reveal 
the society in which he moved. I do not care to 
be critical on his homage, even to prostration 
before kings James and Charles. His was a 
gallant, chivalrous loyalty to the throne, irre- 
spective of its occupant — that self-forgetting and 
beautiful devotion, which transfigured the meanest 
and turned the crown into an aureole. Probably 
he uttered his own as well as Surrey's sentiment 
in his ' Eosworth Eield ' : 

" Set England's royall wreath upon a stake 
There will I fight, and not the place forsake." 2 

Personal ties to Buckingham and others, explain 
if they do not altogether vindicate his verse-beati- 
fication of men and women concerning whom 
History has little of great or good to tell. That 
our Poet, — Cavalier and [loyalist though he was, 

1 See pp 1G3— 164. 

2 See p. 61. 



— had touches of the Puritan : or to put it in 
another shape, was centrally and controllingly a 
Christian man, through tragic conflict and agony 
of penitence, and Luther or Bunyan-like fighting 
"the fight of Faith" as against "the world, the 
flesh and the devil ", is everywhere evidenced. 
Turn, Eeader, to his "In Desolation" and "of 
the miserable state of man " and "of sinne." Brood 
over these, if with wet eyes so much the better. 
Twice over concerning the former, Dr. George 
Macdonald in 'Antiphon', thus writes: "The 
following contains an utterance of personal experi- 
ence, the truth of which will be recognized by 
all to whom heavenly aspiration and needful dis- 
appointment are not unknown :" and " Surely 
this is as genuine an utterance, whatever its 
merits as a poem — and those I judge not small— 
as ever flowed from Christian heart." 1 His " Act 
of Contrition " is as purged and strong and touch- 
ing. 3 Of rare beauty, and of exquisite tender- 
ness of feeling, are all his allusions to The Saviour. 
You have a sense in reading, of a hush on his 
spirit, a tremble in his tones, a devoutness, soft as 
light and nevertheless penetrating as the lightning, 
in His presence, How finely-put is this " of the 
Epiphany" as one out of many examples! It 

1 Pages 143, 145. 2 See pp. 80—82. 


would be desecration to mutilate in any way, this 
lovely poem : and therefore I give it in full : 

" Faire Easterne starre, that art ordain' d to runne 

Before the sages, to the rising Sunne, 

Heare cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud 

Of this poore stable can thy Maker shroud : 

Ye heauenly bodies, glory to be bright, 

And are esteem' d, as ye are rich in light: 

But here on Earth is taught a diff'rent way, 

Since vnder this low roofe the Highest lay ; 

Ierusalem erects her stately towres, 

Displayes her windowes, and adornes her bowres ; 

Yet there thou must not cast a trembling sparke : 

Let Herod's palace still continue darke : 

Each schoole and synagogue thy force repels, 

There Pride enthroned in misty errours, dwels. 

The temple, where the priests maintaine their quire, 

Shall taste no beame of thy celestiall fire ; 

"While this weake cottage all thy splendour takes, 

A joy full gate of eu'ry chinke it makes. 

Here shines no golden roofe, no iu'ry staire, 

No king exalted in a stately chaire, 

Girt with attendants, or by heralds styl'd. 

But straw and hay inwrap a speechlesse child ; 

Yet Sabae's lords before this Babo vnfold 

Their treasures, off' ring incense, myrrh and gold. 

The cribbe becomes an altar; therefore dies 

No oxe nor shecpe ; for in their fodder lies 

The Prince of Peace, who thankfull for His bed, 

Destroyes those rites, in which their blood was shed : 


The quintessence of earth He takes and fees. 
And precious gummes distilled from weeping trees ; 
Rich metals and sweet odours now declare 
The glorious blessings, which His lawes prepare 
To cleare vs from the base and lothsome flood 
Of sense, and make vs fit for angels' food, 
. "Who lift to God for vs the holy smoke 
Of feruent pray'rs, with which we Him inuoke, 
And trie our actions in that searching fire, 
By which the seraphim s our lips inspire : 
No muddy dross pure m in' rails shall infect, 
We shall exale our vapours vp direct : 
No stormes shall crosse, nor glitt'ring lights deface 
Perpetuall sighes, which seeke a happy place." 

On this, Dr. Macdonald remarks " The creatures 
no longer offered on His altar, standing aronnd the 
Prince of Life, [Peace] to whom they have given a 
bed, is a lovely idea." It may also he observed here, 
with reference to Dr. Macdonald' s and onr note 
on the place : [See page 70] that our present 
Laureate uses the technical t in fee ' in his immortal 
^InMemoriam', in a passage dear to many hearts 
and in myriad memories : 

" More than my brothers are to me ".. 

Let not this vex thee, noble heart ! 

I know thee of what force thou art, 
To hold the costliest love in fee.' 


Equally if not surpassingly original, is lordly Jeru- 
salem lifting up high its signal-lights from tower 
and palace — in vain : while the lowly manger- 
cradle is accepted. I can't resist also quoting in 
this place the beautiful little poem " Vpon the two 
great Feasts of the Annunciation and Resurrec- 
tion ": 

" Thrice happy day, which sweetly do'st combine 

Two hemispheres in th* Equinoctiall line : 

The one debasing God to earthly paine, 

The other raising man to endlesse raigne. 

Christ's humble steps declining to the wombe, 

Touch heau'nly scales erected on His tombe : 

We first with Gabriel must this Prince conuay 

Into His chamber on the marriage day, 

Then with the other angels cloth' d in white, 

We will adore Him in this conqu'ring night : 

The Sonne of God assuming humane breath, 

Becomes a subiect to His vassall Death, 

That graues and Hell laid open by His strife, 

May giue vs passage to a better life. 

See for this worke how things are newly styl'd, 

Man is declar'd, Almighty, God, a child ; 

The Word made flesh, is speechlcsse, and the Light 

Begins from clouds, and sets in depth of night ; 

Behold the sunne eclips'd for many yeeres, 

And eu'ry day moro dusky robes He weares, 

Till after totall darknesse shining faire, 

No moone shall barre His splendour from the aire. 


Let faithfull soules this double feast attend 
In two processions : let the first descend 
The temple's staires, and with a downe-cast eye 
Vpon the lowest pauement prostrate lie ; 
In creeping violets, white lilies, shine 
Their humble thoughts, and eu'ry pure designe ; 
The other troope shall climbe, with sacred heate, 
The rich degrees of Salomon's bright seate, 
In glowing roses feruent zeale they beare, 
And in the azure flowre de-lis appeare 
Celestiall contemplations, which aspire 
Aboue the skie, vp to th' immortall quire." 1 

Milton might have worked the close into c Comus ' 
or even ' Paradise Lost \ The reader of Giles 
Fletcher will recognize his influence in the above 
poem, in the paradoxes of the Divinely-human 
and humanly-Divine life, and elsewhere, as in 
"Of Sinne " there are evident recollections of 
" Christ s's Victorie " — the first edition of which 
was published in 1610. Nearly all the ' Sacred 
Poems ' are similarly markedly genuine, markedly 
evangelic, and finished in workmanship. Like the 
' wise man ' of old, he had sought out ' many in- 
ventions ' and to * intermeddle ' with ' all know- 
ledge ', but the deeper hunger went unsatisfied, 

1 See our Volume, pp. 67-^-68. 


and he looked up. There was no common experi- 
ence in this cry ' of the miserable state of man ' : 

" But these are ends which draw the meanest hearts : 
Let vs search deepe and trie our better parts : 

knowledge, if a heau'n on earth could be. 

1 would expect to reape that blisse in thee : 
But thou art blind, and they that haue thy light 
More clearely know, they Hue in darksome night . 
See, man, thy stripes at schoole, thy paines abroad, 
Thy watching and thy palenesse well bestow' d : 
These feeble helpes can scholers neuer bring 

To perfect knowledge of the plainest thing : 
And some to such a height of learning grow, 
They die perswaded that they nothing know . 
In vaine swift houres spent in deep study slide, 
Vnlesse the purchast doctrine curbe our pride. 
The soule perswaded, that no fading loue 
Can equall her imbraces, seekes aboue : 
And now aspiring to a higher place, 
Is glad that all her comforts here are base.' '* 

At the opposite pole, are his ' l In spiritnall 
Comfort ", " let of Hope'' and " True Liberty," 
which tell of the very rapture of Christian fellow- 

Of his pursuit after Knowledge in less promi- 
nent and less urgent departments we are informed 

1 See our Volume, pp. 92 — 96. 


in the Letter to Edmund Eolton already given, 
and there are acknowledgments of help rendered 
by him to the good old Historian of Leicestershire, 
Bueto^, who writes thus gratefully concerning him 
as " a gentleman of great learning, gravity and 
worthiness : the remembrance of whom I may not 
here omit, for many worthy respects." 1 Similarly, 
Anthony a- Wood wakes up from his usual Dr. 
Dry-as-dust style, to say of him: " The former 
part of his life he had fully employed in poetry : 
and the latter he as happily bestowed on more 
serious and beneficial studies : [Innocent Dr. Dry- 
as-dust !] and had not death untimely cut him off 
in his middle age, he might have prov'd a patriot, 
being accounted at the time of his death a person 
of great knowledge, gravity and worth." 2 That 
word ' patriot ' from the pen of Anthony a- Wood 
was a synonym for Royalist or one for the King 
as against the Kingdom, for Privilege as above 
Law : and perchance he was right — though per- 
sonally, as in innumerable cases, the loyalty of our 
Worthy was pure and unselfish, if blinded. 

In 1626 he was made a i Baronet': and he 
evidently stood high in favour at Court. We may 

1 Quoted by Nichols, as before. Burton was brother 
of the Burton of ' Melancholy '. 

2 As before. 


agree with his poet-friend Deayton that it was 
good he was gone before the Tempest crashed 
over England : 

" Heau'n was kinde, and would not let thee see 
The plagues that must vpon this Nation be." 1 

His son and heir — Sir John — adhered to the king, 
and as already told, was killed at the siege of 
Gloucester. He bnt followed in what would 
have been his father's footsteps. The family and 
the family-property, direct and collateral, suffered 
as in all Civil Wars, and especially the losing side. 
I am enabled by the spontaneous courtesy of the 
present Sir George H. Beaumont, Bart., of Cole- 
orton Hall — another branch of the Beaumont-stock, 
destined to share for ever the glory of "Woeds- 
woeth — to print for the first time a melancholy 
memorial of the ravage of the period, in the form 
of a " Petition, " in his possession. The Bishop 
addressed was Humphrey Henchman, Bishop of 
London from 1663 to 1675 : which chronological 
fact convicts the Petitioners of — shall I say ? — 
fibbing, seeing that Naseby was fought in 1645, 
thirty {not l above forty') years only before the 
latest date at which the petition could have been 
written : 

1 See our Volume, pp. 17 — 18. 


" To the Bighte Eeverend Father in God Humphrey, now 
Lord Bishop of London. 

The humble Petition of the inhabitants of Coleorton, in 
the Countye of Leicester, Humbly sheweth, that in the 
reign of that sacred martyr, Charles the I (of ever blessed 
memorye) above 40 years agoe, the house of the rights 
Honourable Thomas Beamonte, Yiscounte Swords, was 
made a Garrison, and the Parish Churche was also included 
within their Bulwarks, where, whilst these rude Oliverians 
stayed, they made greate spoyle and committed many out- 
rages, keeping sentinell in the Church : which they defac- 
ed, with a stately monument of the Beaumonts' noble 
family e, broke down all the windows, threw down the' 
battlements, caused all the lead from off all the 3 
Ifles 1 to be carried away and embessled, and pluck' d down 
many houses adiacent, whereof a fine parsonage-house, 
new built, was one ; by this rude action, ever since the 
fatal battle at Nasebye, we have been exposed to all incon- 
veniences of storms and tempests, so that many times, to 
our unspeakable griefe, we have been driven from our 
devotions, and now the roofes, havinge so long laine 
without coveringe, are all rotten, and the walls which 
should have supported them being in many places fallen 
downe, we are afraide to enter the Church, when there is 
any highe windes, least it should fall upon oure heads and 
entombe us quicke. We being a lamentable poore 
parishe, most consisting of colliers, and so despairinge 
ever to repaire it, have formerly made our addresses to 

1 Query — isles = aisles? G. 


the General Sessions, and did procure their informatione 
and request to his sacred Majestye to grant us his letters 
pattant, without which it will falle to rubbishe speedily. 
We had 4 able workmen, a mason, a plumber, a carpenter, 
and a joiner, who upon their oaths certified that 1391 
pounds would not complete it as formerly it had been : 
therefore we jointly begg your gracious assistance, so 
shall we be bound all to pray for your Lordship ['s] health 
and everlasting happinesse hereafter." 

It were very idle to start a controversy out of 
this old Petition, as it were easy to bandy words 
as between Cavalier and Boundhead. Either side, 
in the alternation of triumph and defeat, could 
shew the same ordeal of suffering and wrong. 
"War is too realistic to leave one side less at fault 
than the other. Eut all the shame and sorrow of 
the internecine Contest, our Poet was spared. He 
died according to Anthony a- Wood " in the Win- 
ter-time of 1628 :" and so all the old authorities, 
probably following him. But as the Athena 
mistakes in adding " and was buried in the 
Church at Grace-dieu", we may safely regard 
1628 as a mistake for 1627. This entry from the 
Eegister of Burials from Westminster Abbey, 
cannot be disputed : 

" 1627. Sr. John Beaumont bd in ye broad He on y e 
south s. April 29. " 


Our Worthy departed not without the i meed 
of some melodious tear.' I am fortunate enough 
to have secured from the Bodleian, an ' Elegy ' 
by William Coleman, — one of those appended to 
his excessively rare " La Dance Machabre or 
Death's Duell" It is as follows : 

" An Elegie 

Sir Iohn Beavmont. 
Knight Baronet. 

A Beaumont dead ; he forfeit eth his pen 
That writeth not an elegie. For when 
The Muses' darlings, whose admir'd numbers 
Recorded are amongst our ages wonders, 
Exchange this dull earth for a crowne of glorie, 
All are ingag'dt' immortalize their storie. 
But thou hast left vs sacred poesie 
Reduc'd vnto her former infancie. 
Hauing — as all things else by long gradation — 
Lost her first lustre, till thy reformation, 
Forcing her backe into the ancient streame 
Taught' s[t] thy chast muse diuinitie : a theame 
So farre neglected, we did hardly know 
If there were any — but a name — or no. 
Mirror of men, who left'st ys not a line 
"Wherein thy liuing honor doth not shine 
Equall with that of the celestiall globe, 
Clad in the splendor of her midnight robe, 
Onely that Venus neuer did appeare 


Within the circle of thy hemispheare ; 
"Which so much addes to thy religious verse, 
Succeeding ages shall not dare reherse 
Without some sacred ceremonie, sent 
Beforehand, as a diuine complement." 

Again the ' Crowne of Thornes ' seems designa- 
ted in these allusions to his ' religious verse.' 

Such is what we have to tell of our Worthy. 
It is to be regretted that very much fuller though 
our Memoir be, than any preceding, after all so little 
should have been transmitted concerning him. On 
reading the many noble and eminent names 
celebrated by him, one wistfully asks, Where is 
his Correspondence ? Where his Manuscripts ? 
Turning to Mbs. Thomson's " Life and Times of 
George Yilliers, Duke of Buckingham " (3 vols. 
8vo.) it is vexatious to find a single passing allu- 
sion to him and a reference for more to ' the 
Appendix', while not a syllable is given there. 
However his Poetry remains ' in part, ' if the 
record of the Life be dim and inadequate : and so 
we may comfort ourselves as did la. CI. — whoever 
he was — in these ingenious lines : 

" / knew thee ?zot i I speake it to my shame : 

But by that clearc, and equall voycc of Fame, 

Which — with the sunne's bright course — did ioyntly beare 

Thy glorious name about each hemisphere ! 


While I who had confin'd my selfe to dwell 

Within the straite hounds of an obscure cell, 

Tooke in those pleasing beames of wit and worth, 

Which, where the sunne could neuer shine, breake forth : 

Wherewith I did refresh my weaker sight, 

When others bath'd themselues in thy full light. 

But when the dismall rumour was once spred, 

That struck all knowing soules, of Beaumont dead : 

Aboue thy best friends, 'twas my benefit 

To know thee onely by thy lining wit ; 

And whereas others might their losse deplore, 

Thou Hu'st to me iust as thou didst before. 

In all that we can value great or good, 

Wliich were not in these cloathes of flesh and blood 

Thou now hast laid aside ; but in that mind 

That onely by itselfe could be confin'd, 

Thou liu'st to me." 1 

Even more widely, must we say with Leopold 
Schefeu, of such outwardly-oblivionized Lives : 

" Out of all poets since the hoary eld, — 

Out of the poems and the legends all, — 

Out of all sages that have said their word, 

Out of their words themselves and prophecies, — 

Out of all painters, who haue wrote their sketch, 

Out of all pictures, even of those passed by, — 

Out of all good men who haue done their work, 

Out of all champions who haue fought the fight 

1 Seeoiir Volume, pp. 20 — 21. 



With bodies, souls, dragons, and despotisms, 
Down to this hour, and out of all the treasures 
Which all shall still to the last day of earth 
Conspire to swell with godlike energies, — 
Out of all these comes man ! the only one 
Among all beings, that for ever grows. 
"While rock and cloud, lion and cypress-tree, 
Are all alike, the latest and the first, 
Just as one egg is like all other eggs. ,, i 

Of the Poetry of Sir John Beaumont as now 
brought together, little more requires to be said. 
The commendatory Verses prefixed to the c Met- 
morphosis of Tabacco ' (1602) and to the volume 
of 1629, shew that independent of partialities of 
friendship, he had made his mark on his con- 
temporaries : while later, even the blundering and 
frigid Winstanley is stirred to write of him thus : 
" Sir John Beaumont was one who drank as deep 
draughts of Helicon as any of that age : and 
though not many of his works are extant, yet 
those we have be such as are displayed on the 
flags of highest invention, and may justly style 
him to be one of those great souls of numbers." 2 
Later still, Wordsworth — ' one whose praise is 

1 " The Layman's Breviary " translated by Brooks : 
Boston, U.S. 1867, pp. 427—28. 

2 Quoted in Nichols, as before, p. 657. 


fame '—justly observes Dyce, in quoting the words 
— praises him for " spirit, elegance" and harmony, " l 
and Campbell remarks that he H deserves notice 
as one of the earliest|polishers of what is called 
the heroic couplet." 2 Darley — himself a genuine 
poet — is amusingly [irate with certain critics for 
their over-praise of Francis Beaumont's verse- 
letter to Ben Jonson on his Fox. 3 I think it 
clear that those critics must have mixed up in 
their memories, our poet's thoughtful and sonorous 
address " To his late Majesty, concerning the true 
forme of English Poetry," 4 with his brother's 
verses, and perhaps his son's " Congratulation to 
the Muses, for the immortalizing of his deare 
father, by the sacred vertue of poetry." 5 The 
11 Metamorphosis of Tabacco " is more remark- 
able for its smoothness of versification — so early as 
1602 — than substantively. The youthful poet to a 
considerable extent paraphrases Ovid and Virgil. 
He turns aside with every possible opportunity, to 
glorify Elizabeth. I give a single specimen of the 

1 Note on the Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle. 

2 Specimens, s.n. 

3 Introduction to Beaumont and Fletcher, as before. 

4 See our Volume, pp 118—121. 

5 Ibid. pp. 10—12. 

I ! 


1 Metamorphosis, ■ which King James would have 
read 'with horror and Joshua Sylvester with 
loathing. You have in the following passage, a 
fair example of the serio-comic exaggeration of 
the poem : hut it will he hard to discover anywhere 
the ' philosophie ' for which I. P. eulogises him 
in his commendatory lines : 

" The marrow of the world, starre of the West, 

The pearle, whereby this lower orbe is blest, 

The ioy of mortals, vmpire of all strife, 

Delight of nature, Mithridate of life, 

The daintiest dish of a delicious feast, 

By taking which man differs from a beast. 

Thrice happie Isles, which steale the world's delight. 

And doe produce so rich a Margarite ! 

Had but the old heroicke spirits knowne 

The newes, which Fame vnto our eares hath blowne, 

Colchis, and the remote Hesperides 

Had not been sought for halfe so much as these ; 

Nor had the fluent wits of ancient Greece 

Prais'd the rich apples or the Golden Fleece ; 

Nor had Apolloe's garland been of bayes, 

Nor Homer writ of sweete Nepenthe's praise : 

Nor had Anacreon with a sugred glose 

Extold the vertues of the fragrant rose ; 

Nor needed Hermes with his fluent tongue 

Haue ioyn'd in one a rude vnciuil throng, 

And by perswasions made that companie 

An order' d politike societie, 


When this dumbe oratour would more perswade 

Then all the speeches Mercurie had made ; 

Nor honour' d Ceres been create diuine, 

And worshipt so at curious Eleusine : 

Whom blinder ages did so much adorne 

For the inuention of the vse of corne : 

Nor Saturne s feast had been the ioyfull day 

Wherein the Romanes washt their cares away, 

But in the honour of great Trinidade 

A new Tobacconalia had been made.'' 1 

The Battle of " Bosworth Field " deserves the 
encomium of Campbell, and apart from its work- 
manship is a very striking poem, although all 
must shew pale before the mighty pages of 
Shakespeare's Richard III. One incident, admir- 
ably told, viz., the meeting of Byeon and Clinton, 
in its apologetic introduction : 

" If in the midst of such a bloody fight, 

The name of friendship be not thought too light " 2 

reminds us of a curious parallel in Byron's c Childe 
Harold,' wherein he turns aside from the general 
carnage of Waterloo to celebrate young Howard. 
Leaving the prominent dead, the noble Poet 

1 See our Yolume, pp, 304—306. 

2 See our present Yolume p. 56. 


" Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine : 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
Partly because they blend me with his line, 
And partly that I did his sire some wrong, 
And partly that bright names will hallow song ; 
And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd 
The death -bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, f - 
Even where the thickest of War's tempest lower d, 
They reach' d no nobler breast than thine, young, 
gallant Howard."! 

Some of the similes and separate lines, are 
vivid and memory-haunting, as of the sleeping 
sentinel killed by the King : 

" I leaue him as I found him, fit to keepe 
The silent doores of euerlasting Sleepe/'2 

and this of the infamous Tyrell, under the threat 
of Eichard : 

" The wretch astonisht, hastes- away to slide, 

As damned ghosts themselues in darknesse hide."* 

and this of the troubled night-dreams : 

" If some resistlesse strength my cause should crosse, 
Feare will increase, and not redeeme the losse : 

1 Childe Harold, c. iii., st. xxix. 

2 See our present Volume p. 28. 

3 Ibid p. 25. 


All dangers, clouded with the mist of feare, 
Seem great farre off, but lessen comming neare."i 

and this of the fully-armed hero : 

" he takes his helmet bright 

Which like a trembling starre, with twinkling light 
Sends radiant lustre through the darksome aire. , '2 

and this of the doomed monarch : 

" Then putting on his crowne, a fatall signe 

— So offer *d beasts neere death in garlands shine. "3 

and this of Bichmond's view of the army: 

" He sees their motion like to rolling fires, 
. Which by the winde along the fields are borne 
Amidst the trees, the hedges and the come : - 
Where they the hopes of husbandmen consume, 
And fill the troubled ayre with dusky fume.' , 4 : 

The death of Eichard has often been quoted 
for its power and keeping : 

* The king growes weary, and begins to faint, 
It grieues him that his foes perceiue the taint : 
Some strike him that till then durst not come neare, 
With weight and number they to ground him beare, 
Where trampled down, and hew' d with many swords, 

1 Ibid p. 26 2 Ibid -p. 27. 3 Ibid p. 34. 

4 Ibid p. 53. 


He softly vtter'd these his dying words : 

1 Now strength no longer Fortune can withstand, 

I perish in the center of my Land.* 

His hand he then with wreathes of grasse infolds, 

And bites the earth, which he so strictly holds, 

As if he would haue borne it with him hence, 

So loth he was to lose his right's pretence. ,, i 

On this the Biographia Britannica remarks : " L 
moderate Poet would have been contented with 
the King's biting the earth ; but it belonged to a 
sublimer imagination to paint the reluctance with 
which he quitted his usurped possession, even in 
death." 3 The same authority praises his Trans- 
lations. They are pretty close to the original, 
occasionally somewhat clumsy : occasionally also 
bits shew that considerable pains must have been 
spent on them. The version of the City and Country 
Mouse, after Horace, has arch touches The 
Satires of Juvenal and Persius lack the pungency, 
the burning passion of the Latin : and yet now 
and again there are flashes of the true rage. His 
Elegies— like some of his lloyal and Courtly poems 
— are unequal and task- work, on the face of them. 
Nevertheless there are scattered up and down, 
felicities brilliant as dew-drops gleaming on the 

1 Ibid pp. 62-63. 2 As before, pp. 622. 


spider's web in the hedge-row. A few must have 
been heart-felt: for they go right to one's heart still. 
His religions poetry, — all too disproportionate in 
amount, in the (present) loss of the c Crowne of 
Thornes ' — is his supreme gift to our Literature. 
The more it is read and returned on, the higher 
will be the estimate of the Poet and the man. I 
have already given examples of his originality and 
beauty in this department : but the slightest will 
reward study. 

I think Thomson may have read the Poems of 
our Worthy. In the ' Ode of the blessed Trinity ' 
we have this, 

" Then praise with humble silence heavenly things 
And what is more then this, to still deuotion leaue." 1 

The Hymn at the close of The Seasons ends, 

" Hose 

Myself in Him, in light ineffable ! 

Come, then, expressive silence, muse His praise." 

Every one knows the fine rapture in the Castle 
of Indolence : 

" I care not Fortune, what you me deny ; 
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, 

1 i&ufp. 77. 


You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through which Aurora shews her brightening face ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve ; 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, 
And I their toys to the great children leave ; 
Of fancy, reason, vertue, nought can me bereave. 1 ' 

Fainter perhaps, but in the same line of thought, 
is this of our Poet in his ' True Liberty : ' 

" In these delights, though freedome show more high, 

Few can to things aboue their thoughts apply. 

.But who is he that cannot cast his looke 

On earth, and reade the beauty of that boohe ? 

A bed of smiling flow* rs, a trickling spring, 

A swelling riuer, more contentment bring, 

Then can be shadow 9 d by the best of Art : 

Thus still the poore man hath the better part."* 

I believe another anticipation of Thomson - , but 
later than our Poet herein, has escaped our 
literary Critics and Commentators : I refer to 
Randolph's " Ode to Mr. Anthony Stafford, to 
hasten him into the Country ", which has these 
noticeable lines : 

" Where every word is thought and every thought is pure : 
Our's is the skie 

1 See our Volume pp. 97—98. 


Whereat what fowl we please our hauk shall flye : 

Nor will we spare 
To hunt the crafty fox or timorous hare ; 

And let our hounds run loose 

In any ground they'l choose ; 
The Duck shall fall, 
The stag and all : 
Our pleasure must from their own warrants be, 

For to my Muse, if xot to mee, 

I'm sure all game is free : 
Heaven, Earth, are all but parts of her great 


This reference to Eandolph, reminds me of 
another parallel with our Beaumont, as Beaumont 
suggests that Milton may have read him. In his 
Lines "Upon report of the King of Sweden's 
death " he exclaims grandly : 

" If I had seen a comet in the air 
With glorious eye, and bright dishevelVd hair 
All on a suddain with his gilded train 
Drop down."2 

Nearer to Milton is our Poet thus, of base Loue : 

" A vapor first extracted from the stewes 

— Which with new fewell still the lampe renewes — 

1 My edition is the 3rd, 1640 ; pp. 62—65. 

2 Ibid p. 77. 


And with a pander's sulph'rous breath inflam'd, 
Becomes a meteor for distinction fram'd. 
Like some prodigious comet which foretells 
Disasters to the realme on which it dwells. , 1 

I note one Shakesperian parallel and one golden 
little bit that has been worked in finely into an 
imperishable Hymn. The former is " soule of 
goodness " (p. 186) which occnrs also in Henry 
Y. (iv. i.). The latter is Keble's " Sun of my 
soul," as in our Poet's " Abused Love v : 

" Sunne of the soule, cleare beauty, liuing fire, 
Celestiall Light, which dost pure hearts inspire." 2 

Bibliographically, there is one curious circum- 
stance connected with the volume of 1629. Mchols 
in his Leicestershire states that he had examined 
no fewer than twenty copies without finding pp. 
181 — 182 : and so Anthony a- Wood, and all the 
leading authorities. From the Grenville copy in 
the British Museum I give in our volume, what is 
there inserted for the cancelled leaf viz., Verses 
on the death of ' Marquesse of Hamilton ' and 
others, on a ' Funeralle \ There is nothing in 
these to suggest a motive for their suppression : 

1 See our Volume, p. 103 

2 Ibid p. 101.; 


and if a l forgery ' as written by Grenville, it is 
equally difficult to understand their insertion. 
Probably these two unimportant pieces are genuine, 
and taken from some copy wherein they had 
been inserted contemporaneously, either in print 
or in manuscript. But be this as it may, on ex- 
amining another copy of the volume in the British 
Museum [1077, b. 26] and that in the Bodleian, 
I find the leaf has been in each case so hastily 
or clumsily cut out, that a fragment is left, suffi- 
cient to prove another than the first piece at any 
rate in the Grenville copy, had been printed and 
cancelled. In the former these are the first letters 
of the successive lines left — the catchword on 
p. 180 being < Of \ : 
Broken I, IN" or M. 

T [apparently ' To '] 
B [ ' „ <Bu>] . 
In [or « Im '] 

T [apparently <ThH 


T[ „ <Th>] 






In the latter, less fully but in agreement : 





V [half W] 

V [half W] 

A, and on reverse, what looks like half an N. This 
does not agree as the catchword of p. 183, which 
is i Ivvenall ', but the first word of the Poem 
is ' In\ Comparison will reveal that these first 
letters of the lines, differ altogether from those 
that would have been there, had the Verses in the 
Grenville copy on the death of the Marquesse of 
Hamilton really been on that side of the cancelled 
leaf. So that the leaf has been over-successfully 

And so I close my little Memorial-Introduction 
to one in very truth a Worthy, albeit he bulks 
not before the world. Living and dying unob- 


trusively, he finely confirms Mrs. Browning in 
her Aurora Leigh (b. iv.) 

" the best men, doing their best 

Know peradventure least of what they do : 

Men usefullest in the world, are simply used. 

The nail that holds the wood, must pierce it first, 

And he alone who wields the hammer sees 

The work advanced by the earliest blow. Take heart." 


St. Geobge's, Blackburn. 



trp ftanntont %®X. 


The following is the original title-page of the principal 
volume of our Poet ; 

" Bosworth-field : 




by Sir John Beaumont, Baro- 
net, deceased : 
mont, Baronet; 
And dedicated to the Kings most 
Excellent Maiestie. 


Printed by Felix Kyngston for Henry Seile, and are 

to be sold at the Tygers head in Saint Pauls 

Churchyard, 1629." (18o) 

Collation — Title-page — Dedication and preliminary Verses, 
10 leaves — Poems, pp. 208. As explained in our Memo- 
rial-Introduction, pp. 181 — 182 were cancelled by excision 
after the volume was printed : but we have been fortu- 
nate enough to recover the leaf from the Grenville copy. 
\ 'Bosworth Field' was re-printed in 1710 and in Nichols' 
Leicestershire, Chalmers' (so-called) 'British Poets', and 
in the United States of America, by Sanford, in his 
dainty little collection of the Poets (1819). We give the 
Epistle-Dedicatory and other preliminary matter in the 
order of the original edition. For slight changes in the 
arrangement of the Poems, and considerable additions, see 
our Prefatory Note. G. 

(gpktk Betocatcrrp. 


Most Gracious Soueraigne, 

HEEE present at the feet of your Sacred 
Maiesty, these orphan Verses, whose Au- 
SL thor — had hee suruiued — might haue 
made this gift somewhat more correspondent to so 
great a Patron. I haue only endeauoured with- 
out art, to set this iewell, and render it apt for 
your Maiestie's acceptance ; to which boldnes I 
am led by a filiall duty in performing the will of 
my father, who, whil'st he liued, did ever intend 
to your Maiesty these Poems : Poems in which 
no obscene sport can bee found — the contrary 
being too frequent a crime among Poets — while 
these — if not too bold I speake — will challenge 
your Maiestie for their Patron, since it is most 

1 Charles 1st. G. 


eonuenient, that the purest of Poems should he 
directed to you, the vertuousest and most vn- 
toucht of Princes, the delight of Brittaine, and 
the wonder of Europe ; at the altar of whose 
iudgenient, bright erected flames, not troubled 
fumes, dare approach. To your Maiestie must bee 
directed the most precious off- springs of each 
Muse, which though they may well bee esteemed 
starres, yet how can they subsist without the as- 
pect of you their sun ? Eeceiue then, great King, 
these my father's Verses, and let them find — what 
his son hath found — your princely clemency. 
Effect on them — I beseech your Maiesty — a kingly 
worke : giue them life, and withal graciously 
please to accept the sincere wishes for your 
felicity, and the humble vowes of 

Your Maiestie's euer loyall subject, 

Iohn Beaumont. 1 

1 On this Sir John Beaumont, see our Memorial-Intro- 
duction : and for Poems by him, our Appendix. G. 

Prtttminarg Eetjse*, 


j|0 tell the World what it hath lost in thee, 
Were but in vaine ; for such as cannot see, 
Would not be grieu'd to heare, the morn- 
ing light 
Should neuer more succeed the gloomy night. 
Such onely whom thy vertue made, or found 
Worthy to know thee, can receiue this wound : 
Of these each man will duly pay his teares 
To thy great memory, and when he heares 
One fam'd for vertue, he will say, so blest, 
So good his Beaumont was, and weepe the rest. 
If knowledge shall be mention' d, or the Arts, 
Soone will he reckon up thy better parts : 
At naming of the Muses, he will streight 
Tell of thy workes, where sharpe and high conceit, 


Cloath'd in sweet verse, giue thee immortall fame, 
Whil'st Ignorance doth scorne a poet's name : 
And then shall his imagination striue, 
To keepe thy gratefull memory aline, 
By poems of his owne ; for that might bee 
Had he no Mnse, by force of knowing thee. 
This maketh me — who in the Muses' quire 
Sing but a meane — thus boldly to aspire, 
To pay sad duties to thy honor' d herse, 
With my unpolish'd lines, and ruder verse. 
Yet dreame I not of raysing amongst men 
A lasting fame to thee by my fraile pen : 
But rather hope, something may Hue of me, 
— Perhaps this paper — hauing mention' d thee. 

Thomas Netjill. 1 


WRITE not Elegies, nor tune my verse, 
To waite in mourning notes upon thy 
For vainc applause, or with desire to rank 

1 Cf. our Phinoas Fletcher, Vol. I. Ixxi. Probably 
tin: Master of Trinity College, Cambridge. G. 


My slender Muse 'mongst those, who on the bank 
Of Aganippe's streame can better sing, 
And to their words more sence of sorrow bring, 
That stirres my genius, which should excite 
Those pow'rfull wits to doe a pious right 
To noble vertue, and by verse conuay 
Truth to posterity, and shew the way 
By strong example, how in mortall state 
We heau'nly worth may loue, and imitate. 
Nay, 'twere a great iniustice not to saue 
Him from the ruines of a silent graue, 
"Who others from their ashes sought to raise, 
To weare — giu'n from his hand — eternall bayes. 
It is by all confess' d, thy happy straines, 
Distill' d from milky streames of natiue veines, 
Did like the liuing source of Naso's 1 song, 
Flow to the eare, thence gently glide along 
Downe to the heart, in notes so heau'nly-sweet, 
That there the sister-Graces seem'd to meet, 
And make thy brest their seate for soft retire 
And place from whence they fetch' d Promethean 

To kindle other hearts with purest flame 
Of modest verse, and unaffected fame : 
While pedant poetasters of this age 

1 Ovid. G. 


— "Who stile their saucy rimes, poetique rage — 
Loose humours yent, and ballad-lines extrude, 
"Which grieue the wise, captiue the multitude. 
And that thy Poems might the better take, 
Not with vaine sound, or for the Author's sake, 
Which often is by seruile spirits tryde, 
. WhJTst heau'n-bred soules are left vnsatisfyde ; 
Like to the bee, thou didd'st those flow'rs select, 
That most the tastefull palate might affect, 
With pious relishes of things diuine, 
And discomposed sence with peace combine, 
Which — in thy Crowne of Thornes — we may dis- 

Fram'd as a modell for the best to learne 
That verse may Vertue teach, as well as prose, 
And minds with natiue force to good dispose, 
Deuotion stirre, and quicken cold desires, 
To entertaine the warmth of holy fires. 
There may we see thy soule exspaciate, 
And with true feruour sweetly meditate, 
Vpon our Sauiour's sufferings ; that while 
Thou seek'st His painefull torments to beguile, 
With well-tun' d accents of thy zealous song, 
Breath'd from a soule transfix'd, a passion strong, 
We better knowledge of His woes attaine, 
Fall info tcnros with thee, and then againe, 
with thy verse to celebrate the flood 


Of those eternall torrents of His blood. 1 

JNor lesse delight — things serious set apart — 

Thy sportiue poems yeeld, with heedfull art 

Composed so, to minister content, 

That though we there thinke onely wit is meant, 

We quickly by a happy error, find 

In cloudy words, cleare lampes to light the mind. 

Then blesse that Muse, which by vntrodden wayes 

Pursuing Yertue, meetes deserued bayes 

To crowne it selfe, and wandring souls reduce 

From paths of Ignorance, and wit's abuse ; 

And may the best of English laureats striue, 

Thus, their owne fun' rail ashes to suruiue. 

Thomas Hawkins. 2 

1 See Memorial-Introduction on the ' Crowne of 
Thornes ' described supra, G. 

2 Sir Thomas Hawkins, of Nash, Kent, well known as 
among our earliest translators of Horace : also of Caus- 
sin's ' Holy Court.' For our Sir John Beaumont's over- 
looked Lines to Hawkins, see in its place. Gr. 



jjE doe not usher forth thy Verse with these, 
That thine may by our prayse the better 
please : 

That were impertinent, and we too weake, 
To adde a grace, where eu'ry line doth speake, 
And sweetly eccho out in this rich store, 
All we can any way pretend, and more. 
Yet since we stand engag'd, we this make knowne, 
Thy layes are vnaffected ; free ; thine owne ; 
Thy periods, cleare ; expressions, genuine ; 
Muse most emphaticall ; and wit, diuine. 

Thomas Hawkins. 1 


j|E heau'nly Sisters, by whose sacred skill, 
Sweet sounds are rays' d vpon the fork- 
ed hill 
Of high Parnassus : you, whose tuned strings 

] See preceding ' Elegy ' and relative foot-note. G. 


Can cause the birds to stay their nimble wings, 
And silently admire : before whose feet, 
The lambs, as fearelesse, with the lions meet. 
You whom the harpe of Orpheus so inspir'd, 
That from the Stygian Lake he safe retir'd ; 
You could Amphion's harp with vertue fill, 
That euen the stones were pliant to his will. 
To you, you therefore I my verse direct, 
From whom such beames celestiall can reflect 
On that deare Author of my life, inspir'd 
With heauenly heate, and sacred fury fiVd ; 
Whose vigour, quencht by death, you now reuiue, 
And in this booke conserue him still aliue. 
Here liues his better part, here shines that flame, 
Which lights the entrance to eternall fame. 
These are his triumphs ouer death, this spring 
From Aganippe's fountaines he could bring 
Cleare from all drosse, through pure intentions 

drain' d, 
His draughts no sensual waters euer stain'd. 
Behold, he doth on euery paper strow 
The loyall thoughts he did his Sou'raigne owe. 
Here rest affections to each nearest friend, 
And pious sighs, which noble thoughts attend ; 
Parnassus him containes, plast in the quire 
With Poets : what then can we more desire 
To haue of him ? Perhaps an empty voyce, 


While him we wrong with our contentlesse ehoyce : 
To you I this attribute, Sisters nine, 
For onely you can cause this worke diuiue ; 
Ey none but you could these bright fires be found ; 
Prometheus is not from the rocke vnbound, 
No ^Esculapius still remaines on earth, 
To giue Hippolitus a second birth. 
Since then such god-like pow'rs in you remaine, 
To worke these wonders, let some soule containe 
His spirit of sweet musicke, and infuse 
Into some other brest his sparkling Muse. 
Eut you, perhaps, that all your pow'r may speake, 
"Will chuse to worke on subiects dull and weake : 
Chuse me, inspire my frozen brest with heat, 
No deed you euer wrought, can seeme more great. 

Iohn Eeatjmojstt. 1 


OU who prepare to reade graue Beaumont' s 
£|U And at your entrance view my lowly 

*1 See our Memorial-Introduction and Appendix, as 


Expect no flatt'ring prayses to reherse 

The rare perfections, which this booke containes. 

But onely here in these few lines, behold 
The debt which I vnto a parent owe ; 
Who, though I cannot his true worth vnfold, 
May yet at least a due affection show. 

For should I striue to decke the vertues high, 
Which in these poems — like faire gemmes — appeare ; 
I might as well adde brightnesse to the skie, 
Or with new splendour make the sunne more cleare. 

Since eu'ry line is with such beauties grac'd, 
That nothing farther can their prayses sound : 
And that deare name which on the front is plac'd 
Declares what ornaments within are found : 

That name, I say, in whom the Muses meete, 
And with such heate his noble spirit raise, 
That kings admire his verse, whil'st at his feete, 
Orpheus his harpe, and Phoebus casts his bayes. 

Whom, though fierce death hath taken from our 
And caus'd that curious 1 hand to write no more ; 

1 = skilful. See Mr. W. A. Wright's Bible Word- 
Book s. v. for excellent illustrations. G. 


Yet maruell not if from the fun'rall rites 
Proceed these branches neuer seene before. 

For from the corne arise not fruitfull eares, 
Except at first the earth receiue the same : 
Nor those rich odors which Arabia beares, 
Send forth sweet smells, vnlesse consum'd with 

So from the ashes of this phoenix, flye 
These off-springs, which with such fresh glory 

shine ; 
That whil'st Time runneth, he shall neuer dye, 
But still be honour' d in this famous shrine : 
To which this verse alone I humbly giue ; 
He was before : but now begins to Hue 

Feancis Beactmont. 1 




HEN lines are drawn greater then Nature, 

Commands the obiect, and the eye to part, 

Bids them to kecpc at distance, know their place, 

1 This ' Francis ' Beaumont bocame a Jesuit. Dyoe's 


Where to receiue, and where to giue their grace ; 
I am too neere thee, Beaumont, to define 
"Which of those lineaments is most diuine, 
And to stand farther off from thee, I chuse 
In silence rather to applaude thy Muse, 
And lose my censure ;* tis enough for mee 
To ioy, my pen was taught to moue by thee. 

Geoege Foetbsoue. s 


HIS hooke will liue ; it hath a genius : this 
Aboue his Eeader, or his prayser, is. 
Hence, then, prophane : here needs no 
words expense 
In bulwarkes, rau'lins, ramparts, for defense, 

Beaumont and Fletcher, I., xxiii. A portrait of him is 
given in Nichols's Leicestershire r Vol. iii, pt. ii, p.* 662 : 
but see our Memorial-Introduction. Gr. 

1 Judgment, opinion, not as now, condemnation. Gr. 

2 Brother '-in-law to Sir John Beaumont. Cf. Chalm- 
mers's Biogr. Diet. s. n. and Nichols's Leicestershire. 
From the latter it would appear that the Fortescues, and 
so the mother of our Poet, descended from Edward IV. G. 


Such, as the creeping common pioners vse 

When they doe sweat to fortifie a Muse. . 
Though I confesse a Beaumont's booke to bee 

The bound, and frontire of our Poetrie ; 
And doth deserue all muniments of praise, 

That Art, or ingine, 1 on the strength can raise. 
Yet who dares offer a redoubt to reare ? 

To cut a dike ? or sticke a stake vp here, 
Before this worke ? where Enuy hath not cast 

A trench against it, nor a battry plac't ? 
Stay, till she make her vaine approches. Then 

If maymed, she come off, tis not of men 
This fort of so impregnable accesse, 

But higher power, as spight could not make 
JSTor flatt'ry ! but secur'd by the Author's name, 

Defies, what's crosse to piety, or good fame. 
And like a hallow' d temple, free from taint 

Of ethnicisme, 2 makes his Muse a saint. 

Ben. Ionson. 3 

1 Genius or wit. Gr. 

2 Heathenism. G. 

3 To annotate this immortal name were superfluity of 
pains : but it may be worth-while to call attention to the 
frequency and fulness of the praise of Jonson for his con- 
temporaries. Pie is genorous in his recognition every- 
where. G. 



HtS posthunius, from the braue parent's 
Likely to be the heire of so much fame, 
Can hane at all no portion by my prayse : 
Onely this poore branch of my with'ring bayes 
I offer to it ; and am very glad, 
I yet hane this ; which if I better bad, 
My lone should build an altar, and thereon 
Should offer vp such wreaths as long agone 
Those daring Grecians, and proud Romans crownd : 
Giuing that honour to their most renown' d. 
But that braue world is past, and we are light, 
After those glorious dayes, into the night 
Of these base times, which not one heroe haue, 
Onely an empty title, which the graue 
Shall soone deuoure ; whence it no more shall 

"Which neuer got vp higher then the ground. 
Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath, 
Brought on too soone thy much lamented death. 1 

1 On these two lines see our Memorial -Introduction. 
They have been dealt with as enigmatical and even mys- 
terious. G. 




But Heau'n was kinde, and would not let thee see 
The plagues that must vpon this Nation be, 
By whom the Muses haue neglected bin, 
Which shall adde weight and measure to their 

sinne ; 
And haue already had this curse from vs, 
That in their pride they should grow barbarous. 
There is no splendor which our pens can giue 
By our most labor' d lines, can make thee liue 
Like to thine owne, which able is to raise 
So lasting pillars to prop vp thy prays^e, 
As Time shall hardly shake, vntil it shall 
Huine those things, that with it selfe must fall. 

Mi. Dkatton 1 . 

1 Equally unnecessary with Jonson is it to annotate 
this eminent name. See the dedication-verses prefixed to 
the Metamorphosis of Tabacco, onward. By a curious 
inadvertence, in text and index alike, the late Mr. Robert 
Bell, in his ' Lives of the Poets ' in the Cabinet Cyclo- 
pedia, quotes these lines as by Dryden, to the perplexity 
of his un-informed Readers. G. 



ECTTJM discubui ; biceps gemello 
Parnassus bijugo imnrinebat : vnde 
Eontes desiliunt leues, loquaces ; 

Pellucent vitreo liquore fontes. 
Sudo sub Ioue, sydere et secundo 
Discumbo. Teneras rosas pererro 
Narcissum, violas odore gratas, 
Ynguento ambrosio has et has refectas. 
Quas inter philomela cantitillat 
Praepes, blandula, mellilinguis ales, 
^uas inter volitant Apollinesque, 
Et musse Yeneresque mille, mille. 

Insonme hoc sibi somnium quid audet ? 
Altum effare noema bello-montis : 
Effatum euge ! Poema Bello-monti est 
Dium, castalium nitens, politum ; 
Libatum salibus, lepore tinctum. 
Decurrens velut amnis alti monte 
Eeruet delicijs, ruit profundo 
Beaumontus latice. Altius resultat 
Fertur, nee tenui nee vsitata 
Penna per liquidam astheram, biformis. 


Hie Phoebi deus est, decus cohortis 
Summum Palladice iubar sororum, 
Ipse et flos Venerum, resurgo ; legi. 

PH. KIN. 1 


KNEW thee not, I speake it to my shame : 
But by that cleare, and equall voyce of 
Which — with the sunne's bright course — did 

ioyutly beare 
Thy glorious name, about each hemisphere. 

1 Philip King, the youngest son of Dr. John King, 
Bishop of London, 1611—1621 : born in London 1603, 
Died at Langley, 4th March 166|\ He has Latin verses 
in Jacobi Ara, 1617, and Annaa Fvnebria, 1619. Wood (A. 
O. ii. 435) had evidently not seen above Verses, nor Han- 
nah, as they mis-describe them as ' English'. Cf. Poems 
and Psalms by Henry King D.D. edited by Hannah 
(1843) p xcvii, and my Memoir of Bishop King, prefixed to , 
reprint of his commentary on Jonah. It may be noted 
that it was quite customary to abbreviate names, as above, 
at the period e.g. Francis Quarles in title-page of his 
1 Mildreiados ' is Fr, Qua. (1638). G. 


Whiles I who had confin'd my selfe to dwell 
Within the straite bounds of an obscure cell, 
Tooke in those pleasing beanies of wit and worth, 
Which, where the sunne could neuer shine, breake 

forth : 
Wherewith I did refresh my weaker sight, 
When others bath'd themselues in thy full light. 
But when the dismall rumour was once spred, 
That struck all knowing soules, of Beaumont dead : 
Aboue thy best friends, 'twas my benefit, 
To know thee onely by thy liuing wit ; 
And whereas others might their losse deplore, 
Thou liu'st to me iust as thou didst before. 
In all that we can value great or good, 
Which were not in these cloathes of flesh and 

Thou now hast laid aside, but in that mind, 
That onely by itselfe could be confind, 
Thou liu'st tome, and shalt for euer raine, 
In both the issues of thy blood and braine. 

Ia. CL 

$03h)orth Jiclb : 


Certame other ^3oem0 t &r. 

HE Winter's storme of Ciuill Warre I 
Whose end is crown' d with our eternall 
"Where Roses ioyn'd, their colours mixe in one, 
And armies fight no more for England's Throne. 1 
Thou gracious Lord, direct my feeble pen, 
Who — from the actions of ambitious men, — 
Hast by Thy goodnesse drawne our ioyfull good, 
And made sweet flowres and oliues, grow from 

"While we delighted with this faire release, 

1 ' Bosworth Field ' was the end of the Wars of the 
Roses. Similarly in Drayton we read of Bosworth : 

" the last of that long war 

Entitled "by the name of York and Lancaster." G. 


May clime Parnassus, in the dayes of peace. 1 

The King 2 — whose eyes were neuer fully clos'd, 
Whose minde opprest, with feareful dreames sup- 
That he in blood had wallow' d all the night — 
Leaps from his restlesse bed, before the light : 
Accursed Tirell 3 is the first he spies 
Whom threatning with his dagger, thus he cries ; 
i How dar'st thou, villaine, so disturbe my sleepe, 
Were not the smother' d children buried deepe ? 

1 Christopher Brooke in his remarkable " Ghost of 
Richard III d -" puts a like compliment to James into the 
mouth of the dying king : 

" Now England's chaos was reduc't to order 

By god-like Richmond whose successive stems 
The hand of Time hath brancht, in curious border, 

Unto the mem'rie of thrice-royall James : 
An angel's trumpe be his true fame's recorder, 

And may that Brittaine Phoebus from his beames, 
In glorie's light his in-fluence extend 
His offspring counties ; peace, nor date, nor end." 
(Collier's reprint : [1844] Shakespeare Society) G. 

2 Richard III. G. 

3 Christopher Brooke, as before, thus refers to the 
infamous Sir James Tyrrell, by whom the princes in the 
Tot* er were murdered : 

— " Of this ranke one Tyrcll, I did frame 
To doe this deed, whose horror wants a name." 
i 3) Of. Bir Thomas More's History of Henry VII. G. 


And hath the ground againe beene ript by thee, 
That I their rotten carkases might see ? 
The wretch astonisht, hastes away to slide, 
— As damned ghosts themselnes in darkenesse 

hide — 
And calls vp three, whose counsels could asswage 
The sudden swellings of the prince's rage : 
Ambitious Louell, 1 who to gaine his grace, 
Had stain' d the honour of his noble race : 
Perfidious Catesby, 2 by whose curious skill, 
The Law was taught to speak his Master's will : 
And Ratcliffe, 3 deepely learn' d in courtly art, 

1 Francis, Lord Lovell, created Viscount by Bichard 
III, to whom lie was chamberlain. See Notes and Queries 
2nd Series, vi, 396 ; vii, 17 ; xii, 234 ; 3d Series ix. 523. G. 

2 Sir William Catesby, executed after Bosworth. 
Brooke, as before, makes Richard thus delineate him : 

" My blood-hound Catesby foyPd him in the chase, 
Who, earst by him being rais'd, cherisht and bred 
Knowing himselfe too weake to stand for right 
Proves treacherously wise, and friend to might : 

(p 36) a. 

3 Sir Richard Ratcliffe, like Catesby, a Privy-coun- 
cillor. It is to Batcliffe and Catesby, and Lovell, the 
popular distich of the time referred : 

" The rat, the cat, and Lovell the dog 

Rule all England under the hog " 
The ' hog ' is an allusion to Richard's crest of the boar, on 
which see onward. G. 


Who best could search into his Sou'raigne's hart ; 
Affrighted Richard, labours to relate 
His hideous dreames, as signes of haplesse Fate : 
1 Alas ' — said they — ' such fictions children feare, 
These are not terrors, shewing danger neare, 
But motiues sent by some propitious power, 
To make you watchfull at this early hower ; 
These proue that your victorious care preuents, l 
Your slouthfull foes, that slumber in their tents ; 
This precious time must not in vaine be spent, 
Which God — your helpe — by heau'nly meanes 

hath lent.' 
He — by these false coniectures — much appeas'd, 
Contemning fancies, which his minde diseas'd, 2 
Replies : ' I should haue been asham'd to tell 
Fond 3 dreames to wise men : whether Heau'n or 

Or troubled Nature these effects hath wrought, 
I know, this day requires another thought ; 
If some resistlesse strength my cause should crosse, 
Feare will increase, and not redeeme the losse : 
All dangers, clouded with the mist of feare, 

1 Anticipates. G. 

2 = dis-eased or disturbed. Cf. our Phineas Fletcher, 
Vol. iii. page 194. 

3 Foolish. G. 


Seeme great farre off, but lessen commmg neare. 
xiway, ye blacke illusions of the night, 
If ye combined with Fortune, haue the might 
To hinder my designes : ye shall not barre 
My courage, seeking glorious death in Warre.' 
Thus being chear'd, he calles aloud for armes, 
And bids that all should rise, whom Morpheus 

' Bring me '— saith he — i the hamesse that I wore 
At Teuxbury, 1 which from that day no more 
Hath felt the battries of a ciuill strife, 
Nor stood betweene destruction and my life,' 
Ypon his brest-plate he beholds a dint, 
Which in that field young Edward's sword did 

print : 
This stirres remembrance of his heinous guilt, 
When he, that prince's blood so. foulely spilt. 
Now fully arm'd, he takes his helmet bright, 
Which like a twinkling starre, with trembling 

Sends radiant lustre through the darksome aire ; 
This maske will make his wrinkled visage faire. 
But when his head is couer'd with the steele, 
He telles his seruants, that his temples feele 
Deepe-piercing stings, which breed vnusuall paines, 

1 Tewkesbury. Gr. 


And of the heauy burden much complaines. 

Some marke his words, as tokens fram'dt' expresse 

The sharpe conclusion of a sad successe. 

Then going forth, and finding in his way 

A souldier of the "Watch, who sleeping lay ; 

Enrag'd to see the wretch neglect his part, 

He strikes a sword into his trembling heart ; 

The hand of death, and iron dulnesse takes 

Those leaden eyes, which nat'rall ease forsakes : 

The King this morning sacrifice commends, 

And for example, thus the fact 1 defends ; 

I leaue him as I found him, fit to keepe 

The silent doores of euerlasting Sleepe. 2 

Still Eichmond 3 slept : for wordly care and feare 
Haue times of pausing, when the soule is cleare, 
While Heaun's Directer, Whose reuengefull 4 brow 
Would to the guilty head no rest allow, 
Lookes on the other part with milder eyes : 
At His command an angell swiftly flies 
From sacred Truth's perspicuous 5 gate, to bring 

1 Deed. Cf. our edn. of Joseph Fletcher, page 15. G. 

2 A reminiscence and reproduction of a well-known 
classical incident, variously assigned. G. 

3 Earl of Richmond, after Bos worth, Henry VII. G. 

4 = Avenging. G. 

5 = transparent. Cf. Troilus and Crossida i. 3. G. 


A crystall vision on his golden wing. 
This lord thus sleeping, thought he saw and knew 
His lamblike vnkle, whom that tiger slew, 
"Whose powerfull words encourage him to fight : 
1 Goe on iust scourge of murder, Yertue's light, 
The combate which thou shalt this day endure, 
Makes England's peace for many ages sure, 
Thy strong inuasion cannot be withstood, 
The earth assists thee with the cry of blood, 
The heau'n shall blesse thy hopes, and crowne 

thy ioyes, 
See how the fiends with loud and dismall noyse, 
— Presaging vultures, greedy of their prey — 
On Richard's tent their scaly wings display.' 
The holy King then offer' d to his view 
A liuely 1 tree, on which three branches grew : 
Eut when the hope of fruit had made him glad, 
All fell to dust : at which the Earle was sad ; 
Yet comfort comes againe, when from the roote 
He sees a bough into the North to shoote, 
Which nourisht there, extends it selfe from thence 
And girds this Hand with a firme defence : 
There he beholds a high and glorious Throne, 
Where sits a king by lawrell garlands knowne, 

1 = living. Consult Mr W. A. Wright's inestimable 
Bible Word-Book s. v. G, 


Like bright Apollo in the Muses' quires, 
His radiant eyes are watchfull heauenly fires, 
Beneath his feete pale Enuie bites her chaine, 
And snaky Discord whets her sting in vaine. 
1 Thou seest ' — said Henry — ' wise and potent 

lames, 1 
This, this is he, whose happy Vnion tames 
The sauage feudes, and shall those lets 2 deface, 
Which keepe the Bord'rers from a deare imbrace ; 
Both nations shall in Britaine's royall crowne, 
Their diffring names, the signes of faction drowne ; 
The siluer streames which from this spring increase, 
Bedew all Christian hearts with drops of peace ; 
Obserue how hopefull Charles 3 is borne t' asswage 
The winds that would disturbe this golden age. 
"When that great king shall full of glory leaue 
The earth as base, then may this prince receiue 
The diadem, without his father's wrong, 
May take it late, and may possesse it long ; 
Aboue all Europe's princes shine thou bright, 
j God's selected care, and man's delight.' 
Here gentle sleepe forsooke his clouded browes, 
And full of holy thoughts, and pious vowes, 
He kist the ground assoone as he arose, 

1 James VI of.Scotl ind, [si of England. (J. 

2 Hindrances. G. 3 Chajleajgt. U 


"When watchful! Digby, 1 who among his foes 
Had wanderd vnsuspected all the night, 
Reports that Kichard is prepared to fight. 

Long since the King had thought it time to send 
For trusty Xorfolke, 2 his vndaunted friend, 
'Who hasting from the place of his abode, 
Found at the doore, a world of papers strow'd ; 
Some would affright him frorn the tyrant's aide, 
Affirming that his master was betray' d ; 
Some laid before him all those bloody deeds, 
From which a line of sharp reuenge proceeds 
With much compassion that so braue a knight 
Should seme a lord, against whom angels fight, 
And others put suspicions in his mincle, 
That Kichard most obseru'd, 3 was most vnkind. 
The duke awhile these cautious words reuolues 
With serious thoughts, and thus at last resolues ; 
i If all the campe prone traytors to my lord, 
Shall spotlesse Norfolke falsifie his word ; 
Hine oath is past : I swore t'vphold his crowne, 

1 Sir Simon Digby, Knt of Coleskill, c : Warwick, who- 
with his six valiant brothers contributed mainly to the 
Earl of Richmond's success at Bosworth. See Burke's 
Peerage s. n. G 

2 John, Lord Howard, created duke of Norfolk by 
Richard III in 1483. G. 

3 = obeyed, served : frequent in Shakespeare. G. 


And that shall swim, or I with it will drowne. 

It is to late now to dispute the right ; 

Dare any tongue, since Yorke 1 spread forth his 

Northumberland, 2 or Buckingham 3 defame, 
Two valiant Cliffords, 4 Boos, 5 or Beaumonts* 

name, 6 
Because they in the weaker quarrell die ? 
They had the king with them, and so haue I. 
But eu'ry eye the face of Richard shunnes, 
For that vile murder of his brother's sonnes : 
Yet lawes of knighthood gaue me not a sword 
To strike at him, whom all with ioynt accord 
Haue made my prince, to whom I tribute bring : 
I hate his vices, but adore the king. 
Victorious Edward, if thy soule can heare 

1 Edward, duke of York, afterwards Edward IV. G. 

2 Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland, slain at 
Towton, 29th March, 1461. G. 

3 Humphrey Stafford, duke of Buckingham, slain at 
Northampton, 10th July, 1460. G. 

4 Lord Clifford, slain at the battle of St. Alban's 23d 
May 1455, and his son, who fell at Towton. G. 

5 Thomas Manners, Lord Roos, slain at Towton. Gt. 

6 John Beaumont of Overton and his cousin John, 
Viscount Uoaumont, both slain at Northampton, and Lord 
Beaumont slain at Towton. G. 


Thy seruant Howard, Fdevoutly sweare, 
That to haue sav'd thy children from that day, 
My hopes on earth should willingly decay ; 
Would Grlouster then, my perfect faith haue tryed, 
And made two graues, when uoble Hastings 1 died/ 
This said, his troopes he into order drawes, 
Then double haste recleemes his former pause : 
So stops the sayler for a voyage hound, 
When on the sea he heares the tempests sound. 
Till pressing hunger to remembrance sends, 
That on his course his houshold's life depends : 
With this he cleares the doubts that vext his 

And puts his ship to mercy of the winde. 

The duke's stout presence and couragious lookes? 
Were to the king as falls of sliding 2 brookes, 
Which bring a gentle and delightfull rest 
To weary eyes, with grieuous care opprest : 
He bids that JNorfolke and his hopefull sonne, 3 

1 Edward, Lord Hastings, put to death by Richard 
III. Brooke, as before, thus speaks of Hastings through 
Richard : 

" Now good Lord Hastings, great in all mens' grace 
— Of th' adverse faction, fautor and chiefe head 

1 heav'd at, and remov'd. (p 36). G. 

2 Cf. our Phineas Fletcher iii. 199, 240. G. 

3 Thomas Howard, earl of Surrey. On the accession 
of Henry VII, he was committed to the tower, where he 



— Whose rising fame in armes this day begun — 
Should leade the vantguard : for so great command 
He dare not trust in any other hand ; 

The rest he to his owne aduice referres, 
And as the spirit, in that body stirres ; 
Then putting on his crowne, a fatall signe, 

— So offer' d beasts neere death in garlands shine — ■ 
He rides about the rankes, and striues t J inspire 
Each brest with part of his vnwearied fire ; 

To those who had his brother's seruants been, 

And had the wonders of his valour seene, 

He saith : ' My fellow-souldiers, though your 

Are sharpe, and need not whetting by my words ; 
Yet call to minde those many glorious dayes, 
In which we treasur'd up immortall prayse ; 
If when I seru'd, I euer fled from foe, 
My ye from mine, let me be punisht so : 
Eut if my father, when at first he try'd, 
How all his sonnes, could shining blades abide, 
Found me an eagle, whose vndazled eyes 

remained for about three years and a half: but in 1489 he 
was restored to his earldom, of which he had been de- 
prived by attainder. On the 9th of September, 1513, he 
defeated the gallant James IV of Scotland, at Floddni , 
for which he was restored to the dukedom of Norfolk. 
II. ■ died 2ist Slay, 1524, GK 


Affront the beames, which from the steele arise, 

And if I now in action, teach the same, 

Know then, ye haue but chang'd your gen'rall's 

Be still your selues, ye fight against the drosse 
Of those, that oft haue runne from you with losse : 
How many Somersets, 1 — Dissention's brands ! — 
Haue felt the force of our reuengefull hands ! 
From whome this youth, as from a princely floud, 
Deriues his best, yet not vntainted bloud ; 
Haue our assaults made Lancaster to droupe ? 
And shall this Welshman with his ragged troupe, 
Subdue the Norman, and the Saxon line, 
That onely Merlin may be thought diuine ? 
See what a guide, these fugitiues haue chose ! 
"Who bred among the French, our ancient foes, 
Forgets the English language, and the ground, 
And knowes not what our drums and trumpets 

To others' minds, their willing othes he drawes, 
He tells his iust decrees, and healthfull lawes, 
And makes large proffers of his future grace. 
Thus hauing ended, with as chearefull face, 
As Nature, which his stepdame still was thought, 

1 Edmund Beaufort, duke of Somerset, beheaded after 
the battle of Tewkesbury, May 1471. G-. 


Could lend to one, without proportion wrought, — 
Some with loud shouting, make the valleyes ring, 
But most with murmur sigh : 'God saue the King.' 

Now carefull Henry sends his seruant Bray 1 
To Stanl[e]y 2 'who accounts it safe to stay, 
And dares not promise, lest his haste should bring 
His sonne to death, now pris'ner with the King. 
A.bout the same time, Brakenbury 3 came, 
And thus, to Stanley saith, in Bichard's name : 
1 My Lord, the King salutes you, and commands 
That to his ayde, you bring your reddy bands, 
Or else he sweares by Him that sits on high, 
Before the armies ioyne, your sonne shall die' . 
At this the lord stood, like a man that heares 
The Iudge's voyce, which condemnation beares : 
Till gath'ring vp his spirits he replies : 
My fellow Hastings' death hath made me wise, 
More then my dreame could him, for I no more 
Will trust the tushes 4 of the augry bore f 

1 Sir Reginald Bray, steward to the countess of Rich- 
mond. See Nichols' Leicestershire and Gentleman's 
Magazine 1789 Vol lxix. G. 

2 Thomas, Lord Stanley, afterwards earl of Derby : 
died 1504. G. 

3 Sir Robert Brackenbury, Governor of the Tower. G. 

4 Tusks. Curiously enough k tushes ' is now the mo- 
ther's name given to young children's first teeth. G. 

before, the allusion is to the crest of Richard. G. 



If with my George's 1 blond, he staine his throne, 
I thanke my God, I haue more sonnes then one : 
Yet to secnre his life, I quiet stand, 
Against the King not lifting vp my hand.' 
The messenger departs, of hope deny'd. 
Then noble Stanley, taking Eray aside, 
Saith : i Let my sonne proceede, without dispaire 
Assisted by his mother's almes, andprayre ; 
God will direct both him, and me to take, 
Best courses, for that blessed woman's sake.' 
The Earl by this delay, was not inclin'd, 
To feare nor anger, knowing Stanleye's mind, 
But calling all his chiefe commanders neare, 
He boldly speakes, while they attentiue heare : 
' It is in vaine, braue friends, to show the right 
Which we are forc'd to seeke by ciuill fight. 
Your swords are brandish't in a noble cause, 
To free your country from a tyrant's iawes. 
What angry planet ? what disastrous signe 
Directs Plantagenet's afflicted line ? 
Ah, was it not enough, that mutual! rage 
In deadly battels should this race ingage, 

1 George Stanley, Lord Strange, died before his father 
in 1497 (?) The countess of Eichmond, mother of Henry 
VII. being married to Lord Stanley, her son George was 
Henry's half-brother, G. 


Till by their blowes themselves they fewer make, 
And pillers fall, which France could neuer shake? 
But must this crooked monster now be found, 
To lay rough hands on that vnclosed wound? 
His secret plots haue much increast the flood ; 
He with his brothers' and his nephewes' blood, 
Hath stain' d the brightnesse of his father's flowres, 
And made his owne white Eose as red as ours. 
This is the day whose splendour puts to flight 
Obscuring clouds, and brings an age of light ; 
We see no hindrance of those wished times, 
But this vsurper, whose depressing crimes 
Will driue him from the mount aine where he stands, 
So that he needs must fall without our hands. 
In this we happy are, that by our armes, 
Eoth Yorke and Lancaster reuenge their harmes. 
Here Henrie's seruants ioyne with Edward's friends, 
And leaue their priuat griefes for publike ends.' 
Thus ceasing, he implores th' Almightie's grace, 
And bids, that euery captaine take his place. 
His speach was answer' d with a gen' rail noyse 
Of acclamations, doubtlesse signes of ioyes : 
Which souldicrs vtterd, as they forward went, 
The sure forerunners of a faire euent ; 
►So when the Winter to the Spring bequeathes 
The rule of time, and milde Fauonius breathes, 
A quire of swans, to that sweet musicke sings, 


The ayre resounds the motion of their wings, 
When ouer plaines, they fLie in orderd rankes, 
To sport themselues, npon Ca'ister's 1 bankes, 

Bold Oxford 2 leades the vantguard vp amaine, 
"Whose valiant offers, heretofore were vaine, 
When he his lone to Lancaster exprest, 
But now, with more indulgent fortune blest, 
His men he toward Norfolke's quarter drew, 
And straight the one, the other's ensignes knew ; 
For they in seu'rall armies, were display'd, 
This oft in Edward's, that in Henrie's ayde : 
The sad remembrance of those bloudy fights, 
Incenst new anger, in these noble knights ; 
A marish 3 lay betweene, which Oxford leaues 
Ypon his right hand, and the sunne receiues 
Behind him, with aduantage of the place : 
For JSTorfolke must endure it on his face, 
And yet his men, aduance their speares, and swords, 
Against this succour, which the heau'n affords , 
His horse and foote possest the field in length, 

1 Cayster. Cf. Homer's Iliad, ii., 461; and Virgil, 
vii. 699, and Georg. i., 383. G. 

2 This is the " warlike Vere" of this Poem, viz. John de 
Vere, earl of Oxford, who commanded the van at Bos- 
worth. G. 

3 Marsh. Cf. Mr. W. A. Wright's ' Word-Book ' as 
before, s. v. G. 


While bowmen went before them, for their strength : 
Thus marching forth, they set on Oxford's band ; 
He feares their number ; and with strict command, 
His souldiers closely to the standard drawes : 
Then Howard's troupes amaz'd, begin to pause, 
They doubt the slights 1 of battell, and prepare 
To guard their valour with a trench of care. 
This sudden stop made warlike Yere more bold 
To see their fury in a moment cold ; 
His rankes he in a larger forme display es, 
Which all were archers, counted in those dayes 
The best of English souldiers ; for their skill 
Could guide their shafts according to their will ; 
The featherd wood they from their bowes let flie, 
No arrow fell but caus'd some man to die ; 
So painefull 2 bees, with forward gladnesse striue 
To ioyne themselues in throngs before the hiue, 
And with obedience, till that houre, attend, 
When their commander shall his watchword send : 
Then to the winds their tender sailes they yield, 
Depress the flowrcs, depopulate the field : 
Wise Norfolke, to auoyde these shafts the more, 
Contriues his battaile thin and sharpe before ; 

1 Sleights. Of. bur Phineae Fletcher, ii., 90, 93. 104, 
142, 107, 1ST, 199; iy., 1*7, 199, 287, .".08, 420. G. 

2 Painstaking. G. 


He thus attempts to pierce into the hart, 
And breake the orders of the adverse part, 
As when the cranes direct their flight on high. 
To cut their way, they in a trigon flie ; 
"Which pointed figure may with ease diuide 
Opposing blasts, through which they swiftly glide. 
But now the wings make haste to Oxford's ayde ; 
The left by valiant Sauage 1 was display' d: 
His lusty souldiers were attir'd in white ; 
They move like drifts of snow, 'whose sudden 

fright 2 
Constraines the weary passenger to stay ; 
And beating on his face, confounds the way. 
Braue Talbot 3 led the right, whose grandsire's 

Was his continuall spurre, to purchase fame : 
Both these rusht in, while Norfolke, like a wall, 
Which oft with engines crackt, disdaines to fall, 
Maintains his station by defensiue fight, 
Till Surrey, pressing forth, with youthfull might, 
Sends many shadowes to the gates of death, 
When dying mouths had gaspt forth purple breath : 
His father followes : age and former paines 

1 Sir John Savage, commanded the left wing. G-. 

2 Query = freight ? or is it ' flight ' or descent ? G. 

3 Sir Gilbert Talbot commanded the right wing, G, 


Had made him slower, yet he still retaines 
His ancient vigour ; and, with much delight 
To see his sonne do maruailes in his sight, 
He seconds him, and from the branches cleaues 
Those clusters, which the former vintage leaues. 
Now Oxford flyes — as lightning — through his 

And with his presence cheares that part that 
• droupes : 

His braue endeuours Surreye's force restraine 
Like bankes, 1 at which the ocean stormes in vaine. 
The swords and armours shine as sparkling coales, 
Their clashing drownes the grones of parting 

The peacefull neighbours, who had long desir'd 
To find the causes of their feare expir'd, 
Are newly grieu'd, to see this scarlet flood, 
And English ground bedew' d with English blood. 
Stout Rice and Herbert leade the power of Wales 2 
Their zeale to Henry, moues the hills and dales 
To sound their country-man's beloued name, 
Who shall restore the British offspring's fame ; 

1 Embankments. G. 

2 llice ap Thomas and Sir Walter Herbert. See 
Shakespeare's Richard Hid., Act iv : scene 5. G. 



These make such slaughter with their glaues l and 

hooks, 2 
That carefull bardes may fill their precious bookes 
With prayses, which from warlike actions spring, 
And take new themes, when to their harpes 

they sing. 
Besides these souldiers borne within this lie, 
We must not of their part, the French beguile, 
Whom Charles for Henrie's succour did prouide, 3 
A Lord of Scotland, Bernard, 4 was their guide, 
A blossome of the Stuart's happy line, 
Which is on Brittaine's throne ordain 'd to shine : 
The sun, whose rayes, the heau'n with beauty 

Erom his ascending, to his going downe, 
Saw not a brauer leader, in that age ; 
And Bos worth field must be the glorious stage, 
In which this JNortheme eagle learnes to flie, 
And tries those wings, which after raise him high ? 

1 Broad-swords. G 

2 Curved instrument — long used in reaping grain. G. 

3 Charles VIII., King of France, 1483—98, who had 
assisted Henry in fitting out his expedition. G-. 

4 Bernard the renowned Lord D'Aubigny. He visited 
the court of James more than once. He died at Edinburgh 
in 1508 : and according to tradition was buried in Corstor- 
phine Church, not far from Edinburgh. G 

44 bosworth field. 

When he beyond the snowy Alpes renown'd, 
Shall plant French lilies in Italian ground, 
And cause the craggy Appenine to know, 
What fruits on Caledonian mountaines grow. 
~Now in this ciuill warre, the troupes of France, 
Their banners dare on English soil aduance, 
And on their launces points, destruction bring, 
To fainting seruants of the guilty King ; 
When heretofore they had no powre to stand 
Against our armies in their natiue land, 
But melting fled, as waxe before the flame, 
Dismayd with thunder of Saint George' s name. 

Now Henry, with his vnele Pembroke l moues, 
The rereward on ; and Stanley then approues 
His loue to Richmond's person and his cause ; 
He from his army of three thousand, drawes 
A few choyse men, and bids the rest obay 
His valiant brother, who shall proue this day 
As famous as great Warwick, in whose hand, 

1 Jasper Tudor, earl of Pembroke, afterwards Duke of 
Bedford. He was a son of Catherine, widow of Henry 
V., by her marriage with Owen Tudor, and uncle to 
Henry VII. Drayton thus notices Pembroke : 
" With him the noble earl of Pembroke, who commands 
Their countrymen the Welsh, — of whom it mainly stands 
For their great numbers found to be a greatest force." G. 


The fate of England's crowne, was thought to 

stand i 1 
With these he closely steales to helpe his friend, 
While his maine forces stirre not, but attend 
The younger Stanley, and to Richard's eye 
Appeare not parties, but as standers by. 
Yet Stanleye's wordes so much the King incense. 
That he exclames, ' This is a false pretense : 
His doubtfull answere shall not saue his sonne, 
Yong Strange shall die : see, Catesby, this be 

Now like a lambe, which, taken from the folds, 
The slaughter-man with rude embraces holds, 
And for his throte prepares a whetted knife, 
So goes this harmlesse lord, to end his life; 
The axe is sharpen' d, and the blocke prepared, 
Eut worthy Eerrers, 2 equall portion shar'd, 
Of grief e and terrour which the pris'ner felt, 
His tender eyes in teares of pitty melt, 
And hasting to the King, he boldly said : 
' My Lord, too many bloody staines are laid 
Ey enuious tongues vpon your peacefull raigne, 

1 Richard Nevile, the ' great ' earl of Warwick 1453- 
70 : or Edward Plantagenet, son of George, duke of 
Clarence. G. 

2 Sir Walter Devereux, Lord Ferrers. G. 


may their malice euer speake in vaine : 
Afford not this aduantage to their spite, 
None should be kill* d to-day, but in the fight ; 
Your crowne is strongly fixt ; your cause is good ; 
Cast not vpon it drops of harmelesse blood ; 
His life is nothing, yet will dearely cost, 
If while you seeke it, we perhaps haue lost 
Occasions of your conquest; thither flie, 
Where rebels arm'd with cursed blades shall die, 
And yeeld in death to your victorious awe : 
-^et naked bands be censur'd 1 by the Law.' 
Such pow'r his speech and seemely action hath 
It mollifies the tyrant's bloody wrath, 
And he commands, that Strange's death be stay'd. 
The noble youth — who was before dismay' d 
At Death's approaching sight — now sweetly cleares 
His cloudy sorrowes, and forgets his feares. 
As wheD a steare 2 to burning altars led, 
Expecting fatall blowes to cleaue his head, 
Is by the priest, for some religious cause 
Sent backe to Hue, and now in quiet drawes 
The open ayre, and takes his wonted food, 
And neuer thinkes how neere to death he stood : 
The King, though ready, yet his march delayd, 
To haue Northumberland's expected ayde. 

1 Adjudged. G. 2 Steer. G. 


To Mm industrious Ratcliffe swiftly hies ; 

Eut Percy greetes him thus : ( My troubled eyes 

This night beheld my father's angry ghost, 

Advising not to ioyne with Richard's host : 

"Wilt thou ' — said he-— ' so much obscure my shield, 

To beare mine azure lion to the field 

"With such a gen' rail ? Aske him, on which side 

His sword was drawne, when I at Towton 1 died.' 

When Eichard knew that both his hopes were 

He forward set with cursing and disdaine, 
And cries, ' WTio would not all these lords detest 
WThen Percy changeth, like the moone his crest ? ' 
This speech the heart of noble Ferrers rent : 
He answers, ' Sir, though many dare repent, 
That which they cannot now without your wrong, 
And onely grieue they haue been true too long, 
My brest shall neuer beare so foule a staine ; 
If any ancient blood in me remaine, 
Which from the Norman Conqu'rours tooke des- 
It shall be wholly in your seruice spent ; 
I will obtaine to day aliue or dead, 
The crownes that grace a faithfull souldier's head.' 

1 This battle in which Edward I Vth was victorious, was 
fought on March 29th, 1461. a. 


' Blest be thy tongue ' — replies the King — ' in thee 
The strength of all thine ancestors I see, 
Extending warlike amies for England's good, 
By thee their heire, in valour as in blood.' 

But here we leaue the King, and must reuiew 
Those sonnes of Mars, who cruell blades imbrue 
In riuers sprung from hearts that bloodlesse lie, 
And staine their shining aimes in sanguine die. 
Here valiant Oxford and fierce Norfolke meete, 
And with their speares each other rudely greete ; 
About the ayre the shiuerd pieces play, 
Then on their swords their noble hands they lay, 
And JNorfolke first a blow directly guides 
To Oxford's head, which from his helmet slides 
Ypon his arme, and biting through the Steele, 
Inflicts a wound, which Yere disdaines to feele ; 
He lifts his fauchion with a threatning grace, 
And hewes the beuer off from Howard's face. 
This being done, he with compassion charm'd, 
lletires, asham'd to strike a man disarm' d : 
But straight a deadly shaft sent from a bow, 
— Whose master, though farre off, the Duke could 

know — 
Yntimely brought this combat to an end, 
And pierc'd the braine of Richard's constant friend. 
When Oxford saw him sinke, his noble soule 
Was full of gricfe, which made him thus condole : 


c Farewell, true knight, to whom no costly graue 
Can giue due honour : would my teares might saue 
Those streames of blood, deseruing to be spilt 
In better seruice : had not Eichard's guilt 
Such heauy weight vpon his fortune laid, 
Thy glorious vertues had his sinnes outwaigh'd.' 
Couragious Talbot had with Surrey met, 
And after many blowes begins to fret, 
That one so young in armes should thus vnmou'd, 
Eesist his strength, so oft in warre approu'd. 
And now the Earle beholds his father fall ; 
"Whose death, like horri'd darkenesse, frighted all : 
Some giue themselues as captives, others Hie, 
Eut this young lion casts his gen'rous eye 
On Mowbraye's lion, 1 painted in his shield, 
And with that king of beasts, repines to yeeld : 
1 The field ' — saith he — 'in which the lion stands, 
Is blood, and blood I offer to the hands 
Of daring foes ; but neuer shall my flight 
Die blacke my lion, which as yet is white.' 
His enemies — like cunning huntsmen — striue 
In binding snares, to take their prey aliue, 
While he desires t' expose his naked brest, 

1 An allusion to the arms of the Dukes of Norfolk, 
descended from the Mowbray s. G. 


And thinkes the sword that deepest strikes, is 

Young Howard single with an army fights ; 
When, mou'd with pitie, two renowned knights, 
Strong Clarindon, 1 and valiant Coniers 2 trie 
To rescue him, in which attempt they die ; 
For Sauage, red with blood of slaughter' d foes, 
Doth them in midst of all his troopes inclose, 
Where, though the captain for their safetie striues, 
Yet baser hands depriue them of their Hues ; 
Wow Surrey fainting, scarce a sword can hold, 
Which makes a common souldier grow so bold, 
To lay rude hands vpon that noble flower ; 
Which, he disdaigning, — anger giues him power — 
Erects his weapon with a nimble round, 
And sends the peasant's arme to kisse the ground. 
This done, to Talbot he presents the blade, 
And saith, ' It is not hope of life hath made 
This my submission, but my strength is spent ; 
And some, perhaps, of villaine blood, will vent 
My weary soule : this fauour I demand, 
That I may die by your victorious hand.' 

1 Sir Richard Clarendon. G-. 

2 Sir William Coniers, or Conyers. These were two 
of the king' 8 most courageous knights : they vowed to 
rescue him or perish in the attempt. G. 


1 Nay, God forbid that any of my name ' 

— Quoth Talbot — ' should put out so bright a 

As burnes in thee — braue youth — -where thou hast 

err' d, 
It was thy father's fault, since he preferr'd 
A tyrant's crowne before the iuster side.' 
The Earle, still mindfull of his birth, replied, 
* I wonder — Talbot — that thy noble hart 
Insults on ruines of the vanquisht part : 
We had the right, if now to you it flow, 
The fortune of your swords hath made it so : 
I neuer will my lucklesse choyce repent, 
Nor can it staine mine honour or descent. 
Set England's royall wreath vpon a stake, 
There will I fight, and not the place forsake ; 
And if the will of God hath so dispos'd, 
That Richmond's brow be with the crowne in- 

I shall to him, or his, give doubtlesse signes 
That duty in my thoughts, not faction, shines. ' 
The earnest souldiers still the chase pursue, 
But their commanders grieue they should imbrue 
Their swords in blood which springs from English 

veines ; 
The peaceful! sound of trumpets them restraines 
From further slaughter, with a milde retreat, 


To rest contented in this first defeate. 

The king intended, at his setting out, 
To helpe his vantguard ; but a nimble scout 
Runnes crying, ' Sir, I saw not farre from hence, 
Where Eichmond houers with a small defence, 
And like one guilty of some heynous ill, 
Is couer'd with the shade of yonder liill.* 
The rauen, almost famisht, ioyes not more, 
When restlesse billowes tumble to the shore 
A heape of bodies shipwrackt in the seas, 
Then Richard with these newes himselfe doth 

please : 
He now diuerts his course another way, 
And with his army led in faire array, 
Ascends the rising ground, and taking view 
Of Henrie's army, sees they are but few : 
Imperiall courage fires his noble brest, 
He sets a threatning speare within his rest, 
Thus saying, 'All true knights on me attend, 
I soone will bring this quarrell to an end; 
If none will follow, if all faith be gone, 
Behold, I goe to try my cause alone.' 
He strikes his spurres into his horse's side, 
With him stout Loucll and bold Ferrers ride; 
To them braue RatclifFe, gen'rous Clifton haste, 
Old Brakenbury scorn es to be the last : 
As borne with wings, all worthy spirits flye, 


Resolu'd for safety of their prince to dye ; 
And Catesby to this number addes his name, 
Though pale with fear, yet ouercomne with shame. 
Their boldnesse Richmond dreads not, but admires ; 
He sees their motion like to rolling fires, 
Which, by the winde, along the fields are borne 
Amidst the trees, the hedges and the corne : 
Where they the hopes of husbandmen consume, 
And fill the troubled ay re with dusky fume. 
Now as a carefull lord of neighb'ring grounds, 
He keepes the flame from entering in his bounds ; 
Each man is warn'd to hold his station sure, 
Prepar'd with courage strong assaults t' endure ; 
But all in vaine : no force, no warlike art, 
From sudden breaking can preserue that part, 
Where Richard, like a dart from thunder falles : 
His foes giue way, and stand as brazen wailes 
On either side of his inforced path ; 
While he neglects them, and reserues his wrath 
For him whose death these threatning cloudes 

would cleare, 
Who now with gladnes he beholdeth neere, 
And all those faculties together brings, 
Which moue the soule to high and noble things. 
Eu'n so a tyger hauing follow' d long 
The hunter's steps that robb'd her of her young : 
When first she sees him is by inclin'd 


Her steps to double, and her teeth, to grind. 

Now horse to horse, and man is ioyn'd to man 
So strictly, that the souldiers hardly can 
Their aduersaries from their fellowes know : 
Here each braue champion singles out his foe. 
In this confusion Brakenbury meetes 
With Hungerford, 1 and him thus foulely greetes :• 
1 Ah traytor, false in breach of faith and loue, 
What discontent could thee and Bourchier 2 moue, 
Who had so long my fellowes beene in armes, 
To Hie to rebels ? What seducing charmes 
Could on your clouded minds such darknesse bring. 
To serue an outlaw, and neglect the king?' 
With these sharp e speeches Hungerford enrag'd, 
T' vphold his honour, thus the battaile wag'd : 
' Thy doting age ' — saith he — l delights in words, 
But this aspersion must be try'd by swords.' 
Then leauing talke, he by his weapon speakes, 
And driues a blow, which Brakenbury breakes, 
By lifting vp his left hand, else the Steele 
Had piercd his burgonet, and made him fecle 

1 " Stout Hungerford." Drayton. G. 

2 " Brave Bourchier." Drayton. Sometimes the name 
is written Boucher. Hungerford and Bourchier deserted 

^ Brakenbury their leader, a little beyond Stony Stratford. 
Brakenbury was killed by Hungerford at Bosworth. G. 


The pangs of death : hut now the fury fell 

Ypon the hand that did the stroke repell, 

And cuts so large a portion of the shield, 

That it no more can safe protection yeeld. 

Bold Hungerford disdaines his vse to make 

Of this aduantage, hut doth straight forsake 

His massy target, render' d to his squire, 

And saith : ' Let cowards such defence desire.' 

This done, these valiant knights dispose their 

And still the one the other's face inuades, 
Till Brakenhurie's helmet giving way 
To those fierce strokes that Hungerford doth lay, 
Is brus'd and gapes ; which Bourchier, fighting 

Perceiues, and cries, ' Brave Hungerford, forbeare. 
Bring not those siluer haires to timelesse end ; 
He was, and may be once againe our friend.' 
But oh too late ! The fatall blow was sent 
From Hungerford, which he may now repent 
But not recall, and digges a mortall wound 
Into Brackenburie's head, which should be crown' d 
With precious metals, and with bayes adorn' d 
For constant truth appearing, when he scorn' d 
To staine his hand in those young princes' blood, 
And like a rocke amidst the ocean stood 
Against the tyrant's charmes, and threats vnmoud 


Though death declares how much he Eichard 

Stout Ferrers aimes to fix his mighty launce 
In Pembroke's heart, which on the Steele doth 

And runnes in vaine the empty ayre to presse ; 
But Pembroke's speare, obtaining wisht successe, 
Through Ferrer's brest-plate and his body sinkes, 
And vitall blood from inward vessels drinkes. 
Here Stanley, and braue Louel trie their strength, 
"Whose equall courage drawes the strife to length, 
They thinke not how they may themselues defend, 
To strike is all their care, to kill their end. 
So meete two bulls vpon adioyning hills 
Of rocky Charnwood, while their murmur fills 
The hollow crags, when striuing for their bounds, 
They wash their piercing' homes in mutuall 
If in the midst of such a bloody fight, 
The name of friendship be not thought too light, 
Recount my Muse how Byron's faithfull loue 1 
To dying Clifton 2 did it selfe approue : 

1 Sir John Byron, of Clayton, in Lancaster, knighted 
by Henry VIII., died third May, 1488. See our Memo- 
rial-Introduction for a curious parallel in Byron's ' Childe 
Harold,' cIII. st, 29-30. G. 

2 "An interesting incident is mentioned of Sir John 


For Clifton fighting brauely in the troope, 
Eeceines a wound, and now begins to droope : 
"Which Byron seeing, though in armes his foe, 
In heart his friend, and hoping that the blow 
Had not been mortall, guards him with his shield 
From second hurts, and cries, ' Deare Clifton, yeeld ; 
Thou hither cam'st, led by sinister fate, 
Against my first aduice, yet now though late, 
Take this my counsell.' Clifton thus replied : 
' It is too late, for I must now prouide 
To seeke another life : Hue thou, sweet friend, 
And when thy side obtains a happy end, 
Ypon the fortunes of my children looke ; 

Byron and Sir G-ervase Clifton, friends and neighbours in 
Nottinghamshire. Byron joined Henry ; Clifton fought 
with Richard : they agreed that whichever party triumphed, 
the supporter of that should intercede with the victor for 
his friend's estate, for the benefit of his family. In the 
midst of the battle, Byron saw Clifton fall, in the opposite 
ranks. He ran to him, sustained him on his shield, and 
entreated him to surrender. Clifton faintly exclaimed, 
1 All is over : remember your promise : use all your 
interest that my lands be not taken from my children ;' 
and expired. Byron performed this promise, and the 
estate was preserved to the Clifton family. Hutton's 
Bos. Field, 117, 9. There are grants to Clifton, in the 
Harl. MSS. 433, as pp 81, 96." Sharon Turner's History 
of England (1839) Vol. vi. p 526 (note). G. 


Remember what a solemne oath we tooke, 
That he whose part should proue the best in fight, 
Would with the conqu'rour trie his vtmost might, 
To saue the other's lands from rau'nous pawes, 
Which seaze on fragments of a lucklesse cause. 
My father's fall our house had almost drown' d, 
But I by chance a boord in shipwracke found : 
May neuer more such danger threaten mine, 
Deale thou for them, as I would doe for thine.' 
This said, his senses faile, and powr's decay, 
While Byron calles ; ' Stay, worthy Clifton, stay, 
And heare my faithfull promise once againe, 
Which if I breake, may all my deeds be vaine.' 
But now heknowes, that vitall breath is fled, 
And needlesse words are vtter'd to the dead : 
Into the midst of Richard's strength he flies, 
Presenting glorious acts to Henrie's eyes, 
And for his seruice he expects no more, 
Then Clifton's sonne from forfeits to restore. 

While Richard bearing downe with eager mind, 
The steps by which his passage was confin'd, 
Laies hands on Henrie's standard as his prey; 
Strong Brandon 1 bore it, whom this fatall day 

1 Sir William Brandon, Henry's Standard-bearer, 
father to Charles Brandon, created duke of Suffolk, by 
Henry VIII. G. 


Markes with a blacke'note, as the onely knight, 
That on the conqu'ring part forsakes the light. 
But Time, whose wheels with various motion 

Repayes this seruice fully to his sonne, 
"Who marries Richmond's daughter, borne betweene 
Two royall parents, and endowed a Queene, 1 
When now the King perceiues that Brandon striues 
To saue his charge, he sends a blow that riues 
His skull in twaine, and by a gaping hole, 
Giues ample scope to his departing soule. 
And thus insults ; l Accursed wretch, farewell. 
Thine ensignes now may be display' d in hell : 
There thou shalt know, it is an odious thing, 
To let thy banner flie against thy King.' 
With scorne he throwes the standard to the 

Wlien Cheney 2 for his height and strength renown' d 
Steps forth to couer Richmond, now expos 'd 
To Richard's sword : the King with Cheney clos'd, 
And to the earth this mighty giant fell'd. 
Then like a stag whom fences long with-held 
From meddowes, where the Spring in glory raignes : 

1 By marriage. G. 

2 " Sir Ihon Cheinye, a man of great force and strength 
by hym [Richard] manfully overthrowen. [Hall]. G. 


— Now hairing leueLTd those vnpleasing chaines, 

And treading proudly on the vanquisht flowres, 

He in his hopes a thousand ioyes deuoures : — 

For now no pow'r to crosse his end reniaines, 

But onely Henry, whom he neuer daines 

To name his foe, and thinkes he shall not braue, 

A valiant champion, hut a yeelding slaue. 

Alas ! how much decern' d, when he shall find 

An able body and couragious minde : 

For Eichmond boldly doth himselfe oppose 

Against the King, and giues him blowes for 

Who now confesseth with an angry frowne, 
His riuall, not vnworthy of the crowne. 

The younger Stanley then no longer staid, 
The Earle in danger needs his present aide, 
Which he performes as sudden as the light : 
His comming turnes the ballance of the fight. 
So threatning clouds, whose fall the ploughmen 

Which long upon the mountaine's top appeare, 
Dissolue at last, and vapours then distill 
To watry showres that all the valley fill. 
The first that saw this dreadfull storme arise, 
Was Catesby, who to Eichard loudly cries, 
4 No way but swift retreate your life to saue, 


It is no shame with wings t' auoide the graue.' 
This said, he trembling turnes himselfe to flie, 
And dares not stay, to heare the King's replie, 
Who scorning his aduice, so foule and base, 
Beturnes this answer with a wrathfull face ; 
' Let cowards trust their horse's nimble feete, 
And in their course with new destruction meete ; 
Gain thou some houres to draw thy fearefull breath, 
To me ignoble flight is worse then death.' 
But at th' approach of Stanleye's fresh supply, 
The King's side droopes : so gen'rous horses lie 
Ynapt to stirre, or make their courage knowne, 
Which vnder cruell masters sinke and grone. 
There at his Prince's foote stout Batcliffe dies, 
JSTot fearing, but despairing, Louell flies, 
For he shall after end his weary life 
In not so faire, but yet as bold a strife. 
The King maintaines the fight, though left alone : 
For Henrie's life he faine would change his owne, 
And as a lionesse, which compast round 
With troopes of men, receiues a smarting wound 
By some bold hand, though hinder' d and opprest 
With other speares, yet slighting all the rest, 
Will follow him alone that wrong' d her first : 
So Bichard pressing with reuengefull thirst, 
Admits no shape, but Bichmond's to his eye, 


And would in triumph on his carcase die i 1 
But that great God, to whom all creatures yeeld 
Protects His seruant with a heau'nly shield ; 
His pow'r, in which the Earle securely trusts, 
Bebates 2 the blowes, and falsifies the thrusts. 
The King growes weary, and begins to faint, 
It grieues him that his foes perceiue the taint : 
Some strike him that till then durst not come neare, 
"With weight and number they to ground him beare, 
Where trampled down, and hew'd with many 

He softly vtter'd these his dying words ; 
' Now strength no longer Fortune can withstand, 
I perish in the center of my Land/ 
His hand he then with wreathes of grasse infolds ; 
And bites the earth : which he so strictly holds, 

1 So Charles Alleyn in his " Kedmoore or Bos worth " 
(1638) : 

" He like a Bore — his bearing was a Bore 
A cognizance which with his mind agrees, — 
Broke up the rankes to Richmond's selfe, and tore 
Men up like trees." 

(Nichols's Leicestershire, as before p 564). G. 

2 = Beats back. Cf. remarks on * rebate ' in Memorial - 
I ntroduction to our Joseph Fletcher, pages 9 — 10. G. 


As if he would haue borne it with him hence, 
So loth he was to lose his right's pretence. 1 

1 Compare the end of Kichard, as described by our 
Poet, with Alleyn's, as before : 

" And now to see him sinke : bis eyes did make 

A shot like falling starres : flash out and done : 

Groaning he did a stately farewell take, 

And in his night of death set like the sunne : 
For Richard in his West seem'd greater, than 
"When Eichard shin'd in the Meridian, 

Three yeares he acted ill, these two houres well, 

And with unmatched resolution strove : 

He fought as bravely, as he justly fell. 

As did the Capitoll to Manlius prove 
So Bosworth did to him, the monument 
Both to his glory and his punishment." G. 

maA Hfyumt. 


Saxrtb flom*. 

25th, 1627. 

HEICE happy day, which, sweetly do'st 
Two hemispheres in th' Equinoctiall 
line : 


The one debasing God to earthly paine, 
The other raising man to endlesse raigne. 
Christ's hnmble steps declining to the wombe, 
Touch heau'nly scales erected on His tombe : 
We first with Gabriel must this Prince connay 
Into His chamber on the marriage day, 
Then with the other angels cloth' d in white, 
We will adore Him in this conquering night : 
The Sonne of God assuming humane breath, 
Becomes a subiect to His vassall Death, 
That graues and Hell laid open by His strife 


May giue vs passage to a better life. 

See for this worke how things are newly styl'd, 

Man is declar'd, Almighty, God, a child ; 

The Word made flesh, is speechlesse, and the Light 

Begins from clouds, and sets in depth of night ; 

Behold the snnne eclips'd for many yeeres, 

And eu'ry day more dusky robes He weares, 

Till after totall darknesse shining faire, 

No moone shall barre His splendor from the aire. 

Let faithfull soules this double feast attend 

In two processions : let the first descend 

The temple's staires, and with a downe-cast eye 

Vpon the lowest pauement prostrate lie ; 

In creeping violets, white lilies, shine 

Their humble thoughts, and eu'ry pure designe ; 

The other troope shall climbe, with sacred heate, 

The rich degrees 1 of Salomon's bright seate, 

In glowing roses feruent zeale they beare, 

And in the azure flowre de-lis appeare 

Celestiall contemplations, which aspire 

Aboue the skie, vp to th' immortall quire. 

1 Steps = ascents. See Mr. W. A. Wright's Bible 
Word-book, as before. G. 



AIRE Easterne starre, that art ordain' d 
to runne 
Before the sages, to the rising Sunne, 
Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud 
Of this poore stable can thy Maker shroud : 
Ye heauenly bodies, glory to be bright, 
And are esteem' d, as ye are rich in light : 
But here on earth is taught a different way, 
Since vnder this low roofe the Highest lay ; 
Ierusalem erects her stately tow res, 
Displayes her windowes, and adornes her bowres ; 
Yet there thou must not cast a trembling sparke : 
Let Herod's palace still continue darke ; 
Each schoole and synagogue thy force repels, 
There Pride enthron'd in misty errours, dwels. 
The temple, where the priests maintaine their 

Shall taste no beame of thy celestiall fire ; 
While this weake cottage all thy splendor takes, 
A joyfull gate of eu'ry chinke it makes. 
Here shines no golden roofe, no iu'ry staire, 
No king exalted in a stately chaire, 
Grirt with attendants, or by heralds styl'd, 
But straw and hay inwrap a speechlesse child ; 
Yet Sabae's lords before this Babe vnfold 


Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh and gold. 
The cribbe becomes an altar ; therefore dies 
Ts r o oxe nor sheepe ; for in their fodder lies 
The Prince of Peace, who thankfull for His bed, 
Destroyes those rites, in which their blood was 

shed : 
The quintessence of earth, He takes #nd fees, 1 
And precious gummes distill' d from weeping trees ; 
Bich metals and sweet odours now declare 
The glorious blessings, which His lawes prepare 
To cleare vs from the base and lothsome flood 
Of sense, and make vs fit for angels' food, 
Who lift to God for vs the holy smoke 
Of feruent pray'rs, with which we Him inuoke, 
And trie our actions in that searching fire, 
By which the seraphims our lips inspire : 
No muddy drosse pure min' rails shall infect, 

1 Dr. George Macdonald, in ' Antiphon ' as before, asks 
" Should this be " in fees ;" that is, in acknowledgemement 
of His feudal sovreignty P" (p 143) But the technical 
term proper would be ' in fee \ The rhyme might necessi- 
tate l in fees.' Perhaps ' and fees ' is really the Poet's 
idea. He describes a two-fold act, taking and taking as 
* in fee.' The allusion may be as Dr. Macdonald sug- 
gests, albeit a corruption must be very evident to warrant 
ihange of an author's text. G-. 


We shall exhale our vapours vp direct : 

No stormes shall crosse, nor glitt'ring lights deface 

Perpetuall sighes, which seeke a happy place. 


j|EE that in lowly valleyes weeping sate, 
And taught your humhle soules to moume 
of late 

For sinnes, and sufferings breeding griefes and 
And made the riuers bigger with your teares ; 
Now cease your sad complaints, till fitter time, 
And with those three belou'd Apostles clime 
To lofty Thabor, where your happy eyes 
Shall see the Sunne of glory brightly rise : 
Draw neere, and euer blesse that sacred hill, 
That there no heate may parch, no frost may kill 
The tender plants, nor any thunder blast 
That top, by which all mountaines are surpast. 
By steepe and briery paths ye must ascend : 
But if ye know to what high scope ye tend, 
No let 1 nor danger can your steps restraine, 

1 Hindrance or obstacle. G, 


The crags will easie seeme, the thickets plaine. 

Our Lord there stands, not with His painefull crosse 

Laid on His shoulders, mouing you to losse 

Of precious things or calling you to beare 

That burden, which so much base worldlings feare 

Here are no promist hopes obscur'd with clouds, 

Mo sorrow with dim vailes true pleasure shrowds, 

But perfect ioy, which here discouer'd shines, 

To taste of heauenly light your thoughts inclines, 

And able is to weane deluded mindes 

From fond 1 delight, which wretched mortals 

blinds : 
Yet let not sense so much your reason sway, 
As to desire for euer here to stay, 
Eefusing that sweet change which God prouides, 
To those whom with His rod and staffe He guides 
Tour happinesse consists not now alone 
In those high comforts which are often throwne 
In plenteous manner from our Sauiour's hand, 
To raise the falPn, and cause the weake to stand : 
But ye are blest, when being trodden downe, 
Ye taste His cup, and weare His thorny Crowne. 

1 Foolish. G. 



E that to heau'n direct your curious eyes, 
And send your minds to walk the spac- 
ious skies, 

See how the Maker to your selues you brings, 
Who sets His noble markes on meanest things : 
And hauingman aboue the angels plac'd, 
The lowly earth more then the heau'n hath grac'd. 
Poore clay, each creature Thy degrees admires ; 
First, God in thee a liuing soule inspires, 
Whose glorious beames hath made thee farre more 

Then is the sunne, the spring of corp'rall light : 
He rests not here, but to Himselfe thee takes, 
And thee diuine by wondrous vnion makes. 
What region can afford a worthy place 
For His exalted flesh ? Heau'n is too base, 
He scarce would touch it in His swift ascent, 
The orbes fled backe — like Iordan — as He went : 
And yet He daign'd to dwell a while on earth, 
As paying thankefull tribute for His birth : 
But now this body all God's workes excels, 
And hath no place, but God, in Whom it dwels. 




VSE, that art dull and weake, 
Opprest with worldly paine, 
If strength in thee remaine, 
Of things diuine to speake : 
Thy thoughts awhile from vrgent eares restraine, 
And with a cheareful voice- thy wonted silence 

No cold shall thee benumme, 
Nor darknesse taint thy sight ; 
To thee new heate, new light, 
Shall from this obiect come, 
Whose praises if thou now wilt sound aright, 
My pen shall giue thee leaue hereafter to be dumbe. 

Whence shall we then begin 
To sing, or write of this, 
Where no beginning is ? 
Or if we enter in, 
Where shall we end ? The end is endlesse blisse ; 
Thrice happy we, if well so rich a thread we spinne. 

For Thee our strings we touch, 
Thou that are Three, and One, 
Whose essence though vnknowne 

SACKED ?0£MS. 75 

Beleeir cl is to be such ; 
To Whom what ere we giue, we giue Thine owne, 
And yet no mortall tongue can giue to Thee so 

See how in vayne we trie 
To find some tipe, t' agree 
With this great One in Three, 
Yet can none such descrie ; 
If any like, or second were to Thee, 
Thy hidden nature then were not so deepe and high. 

Here faile inferiour things ; 
The sunne whose heate and light 
Make creatures warme and bright, 
A feeble shadow brings : 
The sunne shewes to the world his Father's might. 
With glorious raies, from both our fire — the spirit — 

Xow to this toplesse hill. 
Let vs ascend more neare, 
Yet still within the spheare 
Of our connat'rall skill, 
We may behold how in our soules we beare 
An vnderstanding pow'r, ioyn'd with effectual! will. 

We can no higher goe 

To search this point diuine ; 



Here it doth chiefly shine, 
This image must it show : 
These steppes as helpes our humble minds incline, 
T' embrace those certaine grounds, which from true 
faith must flow. 

To Him these notes direct, 
"Who not with outward hands, 
Nor by His strong commands, 
Whence creatures take effect : 
W 7 hile perfectly Himselfe He vnderstands, 
Begets another selfe, with equall glory deckt. 

From these, the spring of loue, 
The Holy Ghost proceeds, 
Who our affection feeds, 
With those cleare flames which moue 
From that eternall essence which them breeds, 
And strikes into our soules, as lightning from aboue. 

Stay, stay, Parnassian girle, 
Heere thy descriptions faint, 
Thou humane shapes canst paint, 
And canst compare to pearle 
White teeth, and speak of lips which rubies taint, 
Resembling beauteous eies to orbs that swiftly whirle. 

But now thou mayst perceiue 
The ireakenesse of thy wings; 


And that thy noblest strings 
To muddy obiects cleaue : 
Then praise with humble silence heau'nly things, 
And what is more then this, to still deuotion leaue. 



HAT darknes clouds my senses ? Hath the 

Eorgot his season, and the sunne his way ? 
Doth God withdraw His all- sustaining might, 
And works no more with His faire creature Light, 
While heau'n and earth for such a losse com- 

And turne to rude vnformed heapes againe ? 
My paces with intangling briers are bound, 
And all this forrest in deepe silence drownd ; 
Here must my labour and my iourney cease, 
By which in yaine I sought for rest and peace : 
But now perceiue that man's vnquiet mind, 
In all his waies can only darkenesse find. 
Here must I starue and die, vnlesse some light 
Point out the passage from this dismall night, 



Distressed pilgrim, let not causelesse feare 
Depresse thy hopes, for thou hast comfort neare, 
Which thy dull heart with splendor shall inspire, 
And guide thee to thy period of desire. 
Cleare vp thy browes, and raise thy fainting eyes, 
See how my glitt'ring palace open lies 
For weary passengers, whose desp'rate case 
I pitie, and prouide a resting place. 


thou whose speeches sound, whose beauties 

shine ! 
ISot like a creature but some pow'r diuine, 
Teach me thy stile, thy worth and state declare, 
Whose glories in this desart hidden are. 


1 am thine end, Felicity my name ; 

The best of wishes, Pleasures, Riches, Fame, 
Are humble vassals, which my throne attend, 
And make you mortals happy when I send : 
In my left hand delicious fruits I hold, 
To feede them who with mirth and ease grow old ; 
Afraid to lose the fleeting dayes and nights, 
They seaze on times, and spend it in delights. 
My right hand with triumphant crown cs is stor 'd, 
Which all the kings of former times ador'd : 


These gifts are thine : then enter where no strife, 
$o grief e, no paine shall interrupt thy life. 


Stay, hasty wretch, here deadly serpents dwell, 
And thy next step is on the brinke of Hell : 
Wouldst thou, poore weary man, thy limbs repose ? 
Behold my house, where true contentment growes : 
i^ot like the baites, which this seducer giues, 
Whose blisse a day, whose torment euer Hues. 

Kegard not these vaine speeches, let them goe, 
This is a poore worme, my contemned foe, 
Bold thredbare Vertue ; who dare promise more 
From empty bags, then I from all my store ; 
Whose counsels make men draw vnquiet breath, 
Expecting to be happy after death. 

Canst thou now make, or hast thou euer made 
Thy seruants happy in those things that fade ? 
Heare this my challenge, one example bring 
Of such perfection ; let him be the king 
Of all the world, fearing no outward check, 
And guiding others by his voice or beck : 
Tet shall this man at eu'ry moment find 
More gall then hony in his restlesse mind. 


Now monster, since my words haue struck thee 

Behold this garland, whence such vertues come, 
Such glories shine, such piercing beames are 

As make thee blind, and turne thee to a stone. 
And thou, whose waud'ring feet were running 

Th'infernall steepenesse, looke vpon this crowne : 
Within these folds lie hidden no deceits, 
No golden lures, on which perdition waites : 
But when thine eyes the prickly thornes haue past, 
See in the circle boundlesse ioyes at last. 


These things are now most cleare, thee I imbrace : 
Immortall wreath, let worldlings count thee base, 
Choyce is thy matter, glorious is thy shape, 
Fit crowne for them who tempting dangers scape. 


*j|HEN first my reason, dawning like the day, 

Disperst the clouds of childish sense away : 
God's image fram'd in that superior tow'r, 
Diuinely drew mine vnderstanding pow'r 
To thinkc vpon His gveatncsse, and to feare 


His darts of thunder, which the mountaines teare. 
And when with feeble light my sonle began 
T' acknowledge Him a higher thing then man, 
My next discourse erected by His grace, 
Conceiues Him free from bounds of time or place, 
And sees the furthest that of Him is knowne, 
All spring from Him, and He depends of none. 
The steps which in His various workes are seal'd, 
The doctrines in His sacred Church reueal'd, 
Were all receiu'd as truths into my mind, 
Yet durst I breake His lawes, strangely blind : 
My festring wounds are past the launcing cure 
Which terrour giues to thoughts at first impure : 
No helpe remaines these vlcers to remoue, 
Vnlesse I scorch them with the flames of loue. 
Lord, from Thy wrath my soule appeales, and flyes 
To gracious beames of those indulgent eyes, 
Which brought me first from nothing, and sustaine 
My life, lest it to nothing turne againe, 
Which in Thy Sonne's blood washt my parents' 

And taught me waies eternall blisse to winne. 
The starres which guide my bark with heau'nly 

My boords in shipwrack after many falls : l 

1 Cf. Acts xxvii. 44, G. 


In these I trust, and wing'd with pleasing hope. 
Attempt new flight to come to Thee, my scope, 
Whom I esteeme a thousand times more deare, 
Then wordly things which faire and sweet kppeare. 
Eebellious flesh, which Thee so oft offends, 
Presents her teares : alas, a poore amends, 
But Thou accept' st them. Hence they precious 

As liuing waters which from Eden flow. 
With these I wish my vitall blood may runne, 
Ere new eclipses dimme this glorious sunne : 
Andyeeld my selfe afflicting paines to take 
Eor thee my Spouse, and onely for Thy sake. 
Hell could not fright me with immortall fire, 
Were it not arm'd with Thy forsaking ire : 
Nor should I looke for comfort and delight 
In heau'n, if heau'n were shadow'dfrom Thy sight, 



THOU, Who sweetly bend'st my stub 
borne will, 
UWho send'st Thy stripes to teach, and not 
to kiU ! 
Thy chearefull face from me no longer hide ; 
Withdraw these clouds, the scourges of my pride ; 


I sinke to hell, if I be lower throwne : 
I see what man is, being left alone. 
My substance, which from nothing did begin, 
Is worse then nothing by the waight of sin : 
I see my selfe in such a wretched state, 
As neither thoughts conceiue, [n]or words relate* 
How great a distance parts vs ! for in Thee 
Is endlesse good, and boundlesse ill in mee. 
All creatures proue me abiect, but how low 
Thou onely know'st, and teachest me to know : 
To paint this basenesse, Nature is too base ; 
This darknesse yeelds not but to beames of grace. 
Where shall I then this piercing splendor find ? 
Or found, how shall it guide me, being blind ? 
Grace is a taste of blisse, a glorious gift, 
"Which can the soule to heau'nly comforts lift : 
It will not shine to me, whose mind is drown' d 
In sorrowes, and with worldly troubles bound : 
It will not daigne within that house to dwell, 
Where drinesse raignes, and proud distractions 

Perhaps it sought me in those lightsome dayes 
Of my first feruour, when few winds did raise 
The waues, and ere they could full strength obtaine, 
Some whisp'ring gale straight charm' d them downe 

again : 
When all seem'd calme, and yet the virgin's Child 


On my deuotiona in His manger smild ; 
While then I simply walkt, nor heed could take 
Of Complacence, that slye deceitfull snake ; 
"When yet I had not dang'rously refus'd 
So many calls to vertue, nor abus'd 
The spring of life, which I so oft enioy'd, 
Nor made so many good intentions voyd ; 
Deseruing thus that grace should quite depart, 
And dreadfull hardnesse should possesse my heart 
Yet in that state this onely good I found, 
That fewer spots did then my conscience wound, 
Though who can censure, 1 whether in those times 3 
The want of feeling seem'd the want of crimes ? 
If solid vertues dwell not but in paine, 
I will not wish that golden age againe 
Because it flowed with sensible delights 
Of heauenly things : God hath created nights 
As well as dayes, to decke the varied globe ; 
Grace comes as oft clad in the dusky robe 
Of desolation, as in white attire, 
Which better fits the bright celestiall quire. 
Some in foule seasons perish through despaire, 
But more through boldnesse when the daies are 

This then must be the med'cine for my woes, 

1 Judge, decide. G. 



To yeeld to what my Sauiour shall dispose : 
To glory in my basenesse, to reioyce 
In mine afflictions, to obey His voyce, 
As well when threatnings my defects reproue 
As when I cherisht am with words of lone, 
To say to Him in eu'ry time and place, 
Withdraw Thy comforts, sothon leaue Thy grace. 7 


j]NOUGH delight, mine eternal! good ! 
I feare to perish in this fiery flood i 1 
And donbt, lest beames of snch a glorious 

Should rather blind me, then extend my sight : 
For how dare mortals here their thoughts erect 
To take those ioyes, which they in heau'n expect ? 
Eut God inuites them in His boundlesse love, 
And lifts their heauy minds to things aboue. 
Who would not follow such a pow'rfull guide 

1 Is this a reminiscence of the passionate-hearted 
Father ? " Eestrain Lord ! the floods of Thy grace ! 
My Saviour depart a little way from me : for it is not 
possible for me to bear the torrents, of Thy consola- 
tion "? G. 


Immidst of flames, or through the raging tide ? 
What carelesse soule will not admire the grace 
Of such a Lord, who knowes the dang'rous place 
In which His seruants Hue ; their natiue woes, 
Their weake defence, and fury of their foes : 
And casting downe to earth these golden chaines, 
Prom Hel's steepe brinke their sliding steps 

restraines ? 
His deare affection flies with wings of haste ; 
He will not stay till this short life be past : 
But in this vale where teares of griefe abound, 
He oft with teares of ioy His friends hath drown' d. 
Man, what desir'st thou ? wouldst thou purchase 

Great honour, perfect pleasure, peace and wealth ? 
All these are here, and in their glory raigne : 
In other things these names are false and vaine. 
True wisdome bids vs to this banquet haste, 
That precious nectar may renew the taste 
Of Eden's dainties, by our parents lost 
For one poore apple, which so deare would cost, 
That eu'ry man a double death should pay ; 
But Mercy comes the latter stroke to stay, 
And — leauing mortall bodies to the knife 
Of Justice — striues to saue the better life. 1 

1 Of. our Pliiuoas Fletcher, Vol. I. pp ccclii-ccclxi. G. 


No sou'raigne med'cine can be halfe so good 
Against destruction, as this angels' food, 
This inward illustration, when it finds 
A seate in humble, and indifferent 1 minds. 
If wretched men contemne a sunne so bright, 
Dispos'd to stray, and stumble in the night, 
And seeke €ontentment where they oft haue 

By deare experience that there can be none : 
They would much more neglect their God, their 

If ought were found whereon they might depend, 
Within the compasse of the gen'rall frame : 2 
Or if some sparkes of this celestiall flame 
Had not ingrau'd this sentence in their brest : 
In Him that made them is their onely rest. 3 

1 = unprejudiced, unbiassed. G. 

2 As below, our Poet is here versifying one of the 
memorabilia of St. Augustine, on the fascinations of our 
world even as cursed and thorny. G. 

3 " O Lord ! Thou hast made us for Thyself ; and our 
souls are restless until they rest in Thee." : St. Augus- 
tine. G, 



WEET Hope is soueraigne comfort of our 
life : 
Our ioy in sorrow, and our peace in 
strife : 
The dame of beggers and the queene of kings : 
Can these delight in height of prosp'rous things, 
Without expecting still to keepe them sure ? 
Can those the weight of heauy wants endure, 
Ynlesse perswasion instant paine allay, 
Eeseruing spirit for a better day ? 
Our God, who planted in His creature's brest, 
This stop on which the wheeles of passion rest, 
Hath rays' d by beames of His abundant grace, 
This strong affection to a higher place. 
It is the second vertue which attends 
That soule, whose motion to His sight ascends. 
Eest here, my mind, thou shalt no longer stay 
To gaze vpon these houses made of clay : 
Thou shalt not stoope to honours, or to lands, 
Nor golden balles, where sliding fortune stands : 
If no false colours draw thy steps amisse, 
Thou hast a palace of eternall blisse, 
A. paradise from care, and feare exempt, 
An obiect worthy of the best attempt. 
Who would not for so rich a country fight ? 


Who would not runne that sees a goale so bright ? 

Thou Who art our author and our end, 

On Whose large mercy, chaines of hope depend ; 

Lift me to Thee by Thy propitious hand, 

For lower I can find no place to stand. 


1EHOLD what riuers feeble nature spends, 
And melts vs into seas at losse of friends : 
Their mortall state this fountaine neuer 
But fills the world with worlds of weeping eies. 
Man is a creature borne, and nurst in teares, 
He through his life the markes of sorrow beares ; 
And dying, thinkes he can no off'ring haue 
More fit then teares distilling on his graue. 
We must these floods to larger bounds extend ; 
Such streames require a high and noble end. 
As waters in a chry stall orbe contained 
Aboue the starry firmament, are chain' d 
To coole the fury of those raging flames, 
Which eu'ry lower spheare by motion frames : 
So this continuall spring within thy head, 
Must quench the fires in other members bred. 
If to our Lord our parents had been true, 


Our teares had beene like drops of pleasing dew : 
But sinne hath made them full of bitter paines, 
Vntimely children of afflicted braines : 
Yet they are chang'd, when we our sinnes lament, 
To richer pearles, then from the East are sent. 


j]HAT pencil shall I take, or where begin 
To paint the vgly face of odious Sinne ? 
Man [sinning oft, though pardon' d oft 
The falling angels in malicious deeds : 
When we in words would tell the sinner's shame, 
To call him diuell is too faire a name : 
Should we for euer in the chaos dwell, 
Or in the lothsome depth of gaping hell : 
We there no foule and darksome formes shall find 
Sufficient to describe a guilty mind. 
Search through the world, we shall not know a 

Which may to Reason's eye more horrour bring, 
Then disobedience to the highest cause, 
And obstinate aucrsion from His Lawes : 
The sinner will destroy God, if He can. 
what hath God dcseru'd of thee, poore man, 


That thou should' st boldly striue to pull Him 

Prom His high throne, and take away His crowne ? x 
"What blindnesse moues thee to vnequall fight ? 
See how thy fellow creatures scorne thy might, 
Yet thou prouok'st thy Lord, as much too great, 
As thou too weake for His imperiall seate. 
Behold a silly wretch distracted quite, 
Extending towards God his feeble spite, 
And by his poys'nous breath his hopes are faire 
To blast the skies, as it corrupts the aire. 
Vpon the other side thou mayst perceiue 
A mild commander, to whose army cleaue 
The sparkling starrcs, and each of them desires 
To fall and drowne this rebell in their fires. 
The cloudes are ready this proud foe to tame, 
Full fraught with thunderbolts, and lightnings' 

The earth, his mother, greedy of his doome, 
Expects to open her vnhappy wombe, 
That this degen'rate sonne may Hue no more, 
So chang'd from that pure man, whom first she 

1 Jonathan Edwards of America, works out this idea 
very grandly in several of his burning Sermons. Yery 
solemn and ' weighty ' are his.appeals to those who would 
if they could ' pull God from His throne. 9 G. 


The sauage beasts, whose names his father gaue, 
To quell this pride, their Maker's licence craue. 
The fiends his masters in this warlike way, 
Make sute to seaze him as their lawfull prey. 
No friends are left : then whither shall he flie ? 
To that offended King, "Who sits on high, 
"Who hath deferr'd the battell, and restrain' d 
His souldiers like the winds in fetters chained : 
For let the sinner leaue his hideous maske, 
God will as soone forgiue, as he shall aske. 



S Man, the best of creatures, growne the 
worst ? 
He once most blessed was, now most 
accurst : 
His whole felicity is endlesse strife, 
No peace, no satisfaction crownes his life ; 
No such delight as other creatures take, 
"Which their desires can free, and happy make : 
Our appetites, which seckc for pleasing good, 
Haue oft their wane and full ; their ebbe and floud; 
Their calme and stormes : the neuer-constant moone, 
The seas, and nimble winds not halfe so soonc 


Incline to change, while all our pleasure rests 

In things which vary, like our wau'ring brests, 

He who desires that wealth his life may blesse, 

Like to a iayler, counts it good successe, 

To haue more pris'ners, which increase his care ; 

The more his goods, the more his dangers are : 

This sayler sees his ship about to drowne, 

And he takes in more wares to presse it downe. 

Yaine honour is a play of diuers parts, 

Where fained words and gestures please our hearts ; 

The flatt'red audience are the actor's friends, 

But lose that title when the fable ends. 

The faire desire that others should behold, 

Their clay wellfeatur'd, their well temperd mould ; 

Ambitious mortals make their chiefe pretence, 

To be the objects of delighted sense : 

Yet oft the shape and hue of basest things, 

More admiration moues, more pleasure brings. 

Why should we glory to be counted strong ? 

This is the praise of beasts, the pow'r of wrong : 

And if the strength of many were inclos'd 

Within one breast, yet when it is oppos'd 

Against that force, which Art or Nature frame, 

It melts like waxe, before the scorching flame. 

We cannot in these outward things be blest ; 

For we are sure to lose them ; and the best 

Of these contentments no such comfort beares, 


As may waigh equall with the doubts and feares, 
"Which fixe our minds on that vncertaine day, 
When these shall faile, most certaine to decay. 
From length of life no happinesse can eome, 
Eut what the guilty feele, who after doome 
Are to the lothsome prison sent againe, 
And there must stay to die with longer paine. 
No earthly gift lasts after death, but Fame ; 
This gouernes men, more carefull of their name 
Then of their soules, which their vngodly taste 
Dissolues to nothing, and shall proue at last 
Farre worse then nothing : prayses come too late, 
When man is not, or is in wretched state. 
But these are ends which draw the meanest hearts : 
Let vs search deepe and trie our better parts : 

knowledge, if a heau'n on earth could be, 

1 would expect to reape that blisse in thee : 
Eut thou art blind, and they that haue thy light, 
More clearely know, they Hue in darksome night. 
See, man, thy stripes at schoole, thy paines abroad. 
Thy watching, and thy palenesse well bestow' d : 
These feeble helpes can scholers neuer bring 

To perfect knowledge of the plainest thing : 
And some to such a height of learning grow, 
They die perswaded, that they nothing know. 1 

1 Socrates, Flato, Aristotle, and later than our Poet, 
Newton in his tine modesty. G. 


In vaine swift houres spent in deep study slide, 

Ynlesse the purchast doctrine curbe our pride, 

The soule perswaded, that no fading loue 

Can equall her imbraces, seekes aboue : 

And now aspiring to a higher place, 

Is glad that all her comforts here are base. 


HE end of sicknesse, health or death declare 
The cause as happy, as the sequels are. 
Yaine mortals, while they striue their 
sense to please, 
Endure a life worse then the worst disease : 
When sports and ryots of the restlesse night, 
Ereede dayes as thicke, possest with fenny light 1 : 
How oft haue these — compell'd by wholsome 

paine — 
Eeturn'd to sucke sweet Nature's brest againe, 
And then could in a narrow compasse find 
Strength for the body, clearenesse in the mind ? 
And if Death come, it is not he, whose dart, 
Whose scalpe and bones afflict the trembling heart : 
— As if the painters with new art would striue 

1 Qu ; ignis fatims ? G, 


For feare of bugs 1 to keepe poore men aliue — 
But one, who from thy mother's wombe hath been 
Thy friend and strict companion, though vnseene, 
To lead thee in the right appointed way, 
And crowne thy labours at the conqu'ring day. 
Yngratefull men, why doe you sicknesse loath, 
Which blessings giue in Heau'n, or Earth, or both ? 


jE that from dust of worldly tumults flies, 
May boldly open his vndazled eyes, 
To reade wise Nature's booke ; and with 
Surueyes the plants by day, and starres by night. 
We need not trauaile, seeking wayes to blisse, 
He that desires contentment, cannot misse : 
No garden walles this precious flowre imbracc, 
It common growes in eu'ry desart place. 
Large scope of pleasure drownes vs like a flood, 
To rest in little, is our greatest good. 
Learne ye that clime the top of Fortune's wheele, 
That dan'grous state which ye disdaine to feele : 
Your highnesse puts your happinessc to flight, 

1 Bug-bears : in the Puritans, fray-bugs. G. 


Tour inward comforts fade with outward light ; 

Tnlesse it be a blessing not to know 

This certaine truth, lest ye should pine for woe, 

To see inferiours so diuinely blest 

With freedome, and yourselues with fetters prest ; 

Te sit like pris'ners barr'd with doores and chaines 

And yet no care perpetuall care restraines. 

Ye striue to mixe your sad conceits with ioyes, 

By curious 1 pictures, and by glitt'ring toyes, 

While others are uot hind' red from their ends, 

Delighting to conuerse with bookes or friends, 

And liuing thus retir'd, obtain e the pow'r 

To reigne as kings, of euery sliding houre : 

They walke by Cynthiae's light, and lift their eyes 

To view the ord'red armies in the skies. 

The heau'ns they measure with imagined lines, 

And when the jNortherne hemisphere declines, 

Xew constellations in the South they find, 

Whose rising may refresh the studious mind. 

In these delights, though freedome show more high 

Few can to things aboue their thoughts apply. 

But who is he that cannot cast his looke 

On earth, and reade the beauty of that booke ? 

A bed of smiling flow'rs, a trickling spring, 

1 See Mr. Wright's Bible Word-Book, as before. G, 


A swelling riuer, more contentment bring, 
Then can be shadow' d by the best of Art : 
Thus still the poore man hath the better part. 1 


H ! who would loue a creature? who would 
His heart, his treasure in a thing so base ? 
Which Time consuming, like a moth destroyes, 
And stealing Death will rob him of his ioyes. 
Why lift we not our minds aboue this dust ? 
Haue we not yet perceiu'd that God is iust, 
And hath ordain' d the obiects of our loue 
To be our scourges, when we wanton proue ? 
Go, carelesse man, in vaine delights proceed, 
Thy fansies, and thine outward senses feede, 
And bind thy selfe, thy fellow-seruants thrall : 
Loue one too much, thou art a slave to all. 
Consider when thou follow' st seeming good, 
And drown' st thy selfe too deepe in flesh and 

1 See our Memorial-Introduction for remarks on these 
fine closing lines — together with parallels, G. 


Thou making sute to dwell with woes and feares, 
Art sworne their souldier in the vale of teares : 
The bread of sorrow shall be thy repast ; 
Expect not Eden in a thorny waste, 
"Where grow no faire trees, no smooth liners swell ; 
Here onely losses and afflictions dwell. 
These thou bewayl'st with a repining voyce, 
Yet knew'st before that mortal! was thy choyse, 
Admirers of false pleasures must sustaine 
The waight and sharpenesse of insuing paine. 


HALL I stand still, and see the world on 
While wanton writers ioyne in one 
To blow the coales of loue, and make them burne, 
Till they consume, or to the chaos turne 
This beautious frame by them so foully rent ? 
That wise men feare, lest they those flames pre- 

uent, 1 
Which for the latest day th'Almightie keepes 
In orbes of fire, or in the hellish deepes. 

1 Anticipate = hasten. G. 



Best wits, while they possesst with fury, thinke 
They taste the Muses' sober well, and drinke 
Of Phoebus' goblet — now a starry signe — 
Mistake the cup, and write in heat of wine. 
Then let my cold hand here some water cast, 
And drown their warmth, with drops of sweeter 

taste ; 
Mine a igry lines shall whip the purblind page, 
And le 1 hem in a chaster age ; 

But simce - most diuine, I know, 

How can I fight with loue, and call it so ? 
Is it not loue ? It was not now : — strange ! — 
Time and ill erstome, workers of all change, 
Haue made it loud : Men oft impose not names 
By Adam's rule, but what their passion frames. 
And since our childhood taught vs to approue 
Our father's words, we yeeld and call it loue. 
Examples of past times our deeds should sway, 
But we must speake the language of to day : 
Yse hath no bounds, it may prophane once more 
The name of God, which first an idoll bore. 
How many titles fit for meaner groomes, 
Are knighted now, and marshal' d in high roomes ! 
And many which once good and great were thought, 
Posterity, to vice and basenesse brought, 
As it hath this of loue ; and we must bow, 
As States, vsurping tyrants' raignes allow, 


And after-ages reckon by their yeeres : 
Such force possession, though iniurious, beares ; 
Or as a wrongfull title, or foule crime 
Made lawfull by the statute for the time, 
"With reu'rend estimation blindes our eies, 
And is call'd iust, in spite of all- the wise : 
Then heau'nly Loue, this loathed name forsake, 
And some of thy more glorious titles take : 
Sunne of the soule, cleare beauty, liuing fire, 
Celestiall light, which dost pure hearts inspire, 
While lust, thy bastard brother, shal be knowne 
By Loue's wrong' d name, that louers may him 

So oft with hereticks such tearmes we vse, 
As they can brooke, not such as we would chuse : 
And since he takes the throne of Loue exil'd, 
In all our letters he shall Loue be stil'd : 
But if true Loue vouchsafe againe his sight, 
No word of mine shall preiudice his right : 
So kings by caution with their rebels treate, 
As with free States, when they are growne too 

If common drunkards onely, can expresse 
To life the sad effects of their excesse : 
How can I write of Loue, who neuer felt 
His dreadfull arrow, nor did euer melt 
My heart away before a female flame, 


Like waxen statues, which the witches frame ? 

I must confesse if I knew one that had 

Bene poyson'd with this deadly draught, and mad, 

And afterward in Bedlem well reclaym'd 

To perfect sence, and in his wits not maym'd : 

I would the feruour of my Muse restraine, 

And let this suhiect for his taske remaine : 

But aged wand'rers sooner will declare 

Their Eleusinian rites, then louers dare 

Renounce the deuil's pompe, and Christians die : 

So much preuailes a painted idol's eye. 

Then since of them, like Iewes, we can conuert 

Scarce one in many yeeres, their iust desert, 

By selfe confession, neuer can appeare; 

But on presumptions wee proceed, and there 

The Iudge's innocence most credit winnes : 

True men trie theeues, and saints describe foule 

This monster, Loue by day, and Lust by night, 
Is full of burning fire, but voyde of light ; 
Left here on earth to keepe poore mortals out 
Of errour, who of Hell-fire else would doubt. 
Such is that wandring nightly flame, which leades 
Th'vnwary passenger, vntill he treades 
His lust step on the steepc and craggy walles 
Of some high mountaine, whence he headlong 

fa lies. 


A vapor, first extracted from the stewes, 

— Which with new fewell still the lampe renewes— 

And with a pandar's sulph'rous breath inflam'd, 

Became a meteor, for destruction fram'd : 

Like some prodigious comet which foretells 

Disasters to the realme on which it dwells. 

And now hath this false light preuail'd so farre • 

That most obserue 1 it as a fixed starre, 

Yea, as their load-starre ; by whose beames impure, 

They guide their ships, in courses not secure ; 

Bewitcht and daz'led with the glaring sight 

Of this proud fiend, attir'd in angel's light ; 

"Who still delights his darksome smoke to turne 

To rayes, which seeme t' enlighten, not to burne : 

He leades them to the tree, and they beleeue 

The fruite is sweete ; so he deluded Eue. 

But when they once haue tasted of the feasts, 

They quench that sparke, which seuers men from 

And feele effects of our first parents' fall 
Depriu'd of reason, and to sence made thrall. 
Thus is the miserable louer bound 

1 Misprinted ' obserue, it is a fixed starre.' The ' yea, 
as their loadstarre ' seems to shew a needed correction, as 
in our ..text. G, 


With fancies, and in fond 1 affection drown' d . 
In him no faculty of man is seene, 
But when he sighes a sonnet to his queene : 
This makes him more then man, a poet fit 
For such false poets, as make passion wit : 
Who lookes within an emptie caske, 2 may see, 
Where once a soule was, and againe may be ; 
Which by this diffrence from a corse is knowne, 
One is in pow'r to haue life, both haue none : 
For louers slipp'ry soules — as they confesse, 
Without extending racke, or straining presse — 
Ey transmigration to their mistresse flow : 
Pithagoras instructs his schollers so, 
Who did for penance lustfull minds confine 
To leade a second life in goates, and swine : 
Then Loue is death, and driues the soule to dwell 
In this betraying harbour, which like Hell 
Giues neuer backe her bootie, and containes 
A thousand firebrands, whips, and restlesse paines : 
And which is worse, so bitter are those wheeles, 
That many hells at once, the louer feeles, 
And hath his heart dissected into parts, 
That it may meete with other double harts. 
This loue stands neuer sure, it wants a ground, 
It makes no ordred course, it findes no bound, 

1 Foolish. G. 2 Casket? G. 


It aymes at nothing, it no comfort tastes, 
But while the pleasure, and the passion lasts. 
Yet there are flames, which two hearts one can 

Not for th' affections, but the obiect's sake ; 
That burning glasse, where beames disperst, incline 
Vnto'a point, and shoot forth in a line. 
This noble Loue hath axletree, and poles 
Wherein it moues, and gets eternall goales : 
These resolutions, like the heau'nly spheres, 
Make all the periods equall as the yeeres : 
And when this time of motion finisht is, 
It ends with that great yeere of endlesse blisse. 


OUE is a region full of fires, 
And burning with extreme desires ; 
An obiect seekes, of which possest, 
The wheeles are fixt, the motions rest, 
The flames in ashes lie opprest : 
This meteor striuing high to rise, 
— The fewell spent — falles downe and dies. 

Much sweeter, and more pure delights 
Are drawne from faire alluring sights, 


When rauisht minds attempt to praise 
Commanding eyes, like heau'nly rayes ; 
Whose force the gentle heart obayes : 
Then where the end of this pretence 
"Descends to base inferiour sense. 

Why then should louers — most will say — 
Expect so much th'enioying day ? 
Loue is like youth, he thirsts for age, 
He scornes to be his mother's page : 
Eut when proceeding times asswage 
The former heate, he will complaine, 
And wish those pleasant houres againe. 

We know that Hope and Loue are twinnes ; 
Hope gone, fruition now beginnes : 
Eut what is this ? vnconstant, fraile, 
In nothing sure, but sure to faile : 
Which, if we lose it, we bewaile ; 
And when we haue it, still we beare 
The worst of passions, daily Feare. 

When Loue thus in his center ends, 
Desire and Hope, his inward friends 
Are shaken off : while Doubt and Griefe, 
The weakest giuers of reliefe, 
Stand in his councell as the cliiofe : 


And now lie to his period brought, 
Prom Loue becomes some other thought. 

These lines I write not, to remoue 
Ynited soules from serious loue : 
The best attempts by mortal made, 
Reflect on things which quieky fade ; 
Yet neuer will I men perswade 
To leaue affections, where may shine 
Impressions of the Loue diuine. 


^ n signe that iudgement comes, the Earth shall 

sweat : 
(& xpected times, behold the Prince, whose might 
J5 hall censure 2 all within His kingdome great : 
W ntrue and faithfull shall approach His sight, 
$ hall feare this God, by His high glory knowne, 

1 Cf. Ovid: Met. 14, 104 seqq : 154: 15, 712: Virgil: 
Aeneid vi., 10. G. 

2 Judge, as before. G. 


C ombin'd with flesh, and compast with His saints ; 
H is words diuiding soules before His throne, 
§jl edeeme the world from thornes and barren taints. 
3 n vaine then mortals leane their wealth, and sinne : 

# trong force the stubborne gates of Hell shall tame : 
ffi he saints, though dead, shall light and freedome 

winne : 

# o thriue not wicked men, with wrathfull flame 
© pprest : "Whose beames can search their words 

and deeds ; 
H o darkesome brest can couer base desires ; 
Ht ew sorrow, gnashing teeth, and wailing, breeds ; 
$ xempt from sunny rayes, or starry quires, 

© heau'n thou art roll'd vp, the moone shall die ; 
& rom vales He takes their depth, from hilles their 

(& reat men no more are insolent and high ; 

# n seas no nimble ships shall carry weight ; 

Ǥ ire thunder arm'd with heat, the Earth confounds ; 

$ weet springs and bubbling streames their course 

restrainc ; 
^ heau'nly trumpet sending dolefull sounds, 
ffl pbraydes the World's misdeeds, and threatens 
paine : 


2 n gaping earth infernall depths are seene ; 
© ur proudest kings are summon' d by His call 
^ nto his seate ; from heau'n, With anger keene, 
U euengefull floods of fire and brimstone fall. 


ICILIAN AEuses, sing we greater things, 
All are not pleas'd with shrubs and lowly 
springs ; 

More fitly to the consull, 2 woods belong : 
Xow is fulfild Cumaean sibyl's song : 
Long chaines of better times begin againe ; 3 
The Maide 4 retumes, and brings baeke Saturne's 

Xew progenies from lofty Heau'n descend ; 5 
Thou chaste ^Lucina, be this Infant's friend, 
Whose birth the dayes of irn shall quite deface, 
And through the world the golden age shall place : 6 
Thy brother Phoebus weares his potent crowne, 
And thou — Pollio 7 — know thy high renowne ; 

1 Cf. Pope's ' Messiah'. G. 2 Pollio, as onward. G. 

3 Cf. Isaiah lxi. G. 4 Cf. Isaiah vii., 14. G. 

5 Cf. Hesiod : Op. 256 et 109. G. 

6 Cf. Isaiah ix., 6, 7. G. 

7 Cf. AeneM 6, 86: and 9. 47. G 


Thy consulship this glorious change shall breed, 
Great moneths shall then endevour to proceed : 
Thy rule the steps of threatning sinne shall cleare, 
And free the Earth from that perpetuall feare : l 
He with the gods shall Hue, 2 and shall behold, 
"With heauenly spirits noble soules enroll' d, 
And seene by them shall guide this worldly frame, 
Which to His hand His father's strength doth 

To Thee — sweet child— the Earth brings natiue 

dowres, 3 
The wandring iuy, 4 with faire bacchar's 5 flowres, 
And colocasia, 6 sprung from Egypt's ground, 
With smiling leaues of greene acanthus crown'd ; 
The gotes their swelling vdders home shall beare, 
The drones no more shall mighty lions feare : 7 
For Thee, Thy cradle, pleasing flowres shall bring ; 
Imperious Death shall blunt the serpent's sting ; 

1 Cf. Isaiah lx., 18. G. 2 Cf. Hesiod, Op. 118. G. 

3 Cf. Isaiah xxxv., 1 ; and lx., 13. G. 

4 = ivy. G. 

5 Baccar = /3a/ep£a/m*, a plant having a fragrant root, 
which produced a kind of oil. Is our abbreviation (vul- 
garly) 'bacca = tobacco, from this ? G. 

6 = Casia, i.e. Laurus Cassia. G. 

7 Cf. Isaiah xi., G. G. 


No herbes shall with deceitfull poyson flow, 
And sweet amomum eu'ry where shall grow : 
But when Thou able art to reade the facts 1 
Of worthies, 2 and thy father's famous acts, 
To know what glories Yertue's name adorne, 
The fields to ripenesse bring the tender corne f 
Ripe grapes depend on carelesse brambles' tops ? 
Hard oakes sweat hony, form'd in dewy drops ; 
Yet some few steps of former fraudes remaine, 
Which men to trie, the sea with ships constraine, 
With strengthening walles their cities to defend. 
And on the ground long furrowes to extend ; 
A second Tiphys, and new Argo then, 
Shall leade to braue exploits the best of men ; 
The warre of Troy that town againe shall burne, 
And great Achilles thither shall returne : 
But when firme age a perfect man Thee makes 7 
The willing sayler straight the seas forsakes, 
The pine no more the yse of Trade retaines ; 
Each countrie breeds all fruits, the Earth dis- 

The harrowes weight, and yines the sickle's 

strokes ; 
Strong ploughmen let their bulls go free from 


1 Deeds, as before. G 2 Cf. Isaiah vii. 16, G> 

3 Cf, Isaiah lv., 13; et xxxv, 7> Gr. 


"Woolll feares not to dissemble colours strange, 
But rammes their fleeces then in pastures change 
To pleasing purple, or to saffron die, 
And lambes turne ruddy, as they feeding lie. 
The Pates — whose wills in stedfast end agree, 
Command their wheeles to run such daies to see — 
Attempt great honours, now the time attends ; 
Deare Childe of gods, whose line from Ioue des- 
See how the world with weight declining lies ; 
The Earth, the spacious seas, and arched skies : 
Behold againe, how these their griefe asswage 
With expectation of the future age : 
that my life and breath so long would last 
To tell Thy deeds ! I should not be surpast 
By Thracian Orpheus, nor if Linus sing, 
Though they from Phoebus and the muses spring : 
Should Pan — Arcadia iudging — striue with me, 
Pan by Arcadia's doome would conquer'd be. 
Begin Thou, little Childe ; by laughter owne 
Thy mother, who ten mon'ths hath fully knowne 
Of tedious houres : begin, Thou little Childe, 
On Whom as yet thy parents neuer smil'd ; 
The God with meate hath not Thy hunger fed, 
Nor goddesse laid thee in a little bed. 1 

1 Cf. Horace, Od. 4. 8. 30. G. 


kpl wd> ©0tttrtlg f u». 

fUrpI &nb (tortlg fozmz. 


j]HE world to morrow celebrates with mirth 
The joyfull peace betweenethe heau'n and 
earth ; 

To day let Eritaine praise that rising light, - 
Whose titles, her diuided parts vnite. 
The time since Safety triumph' d ouer Eeare, 
Is now extended to the twenti'th yeere. 
Thou happy yeere with perfect number blest, 
slide as smooth and gentle as the rest : 
That when the sunne dispersing from his head, 
The clouds of Winter on his beauty spred, 

1 James came to the Crown on the death of Elizabeth 
in 1603. G. 


Shall see his equinoctiall point againe, 
And melt his dusky maske to fruitfull raine, 
He may be loth our climate to forsake, 
And thence a patterne of such glory take, 
That he would leaue the Zodiake, and desire 
To dwell for euer with our northerne fire. 


GEACIOUS Maker, on "Whose smiles or 

Depends the fate of scepters and of crownes ! 
Whose hand not onely holds the hearts of kings, 
But all their steps are shadow' d with Thy wings ! 
To Thee immortall thanks three sisters giue, 
For sauing him, by whose deare life they Hue. 
First, England crown' d with roses of the Spring, 
An off'ring like to Abel's gift will bring : 
And vowes that she for Thee alone will keepe 
Her fattest lambes and fleeces of her sheepe. 
Next, Scotland triumphs, that she bore and bred 
This He's delight ; and wearing on her head 



A wreath of lilies gather' d in the field, 

Presents the min'rals which her mountaines yeeld. 

Last, Ireland like Terpischore attir'd 

With neuer-fading lawrell, and inspir'd 

By true Apollo's heat, a paean sings, 

And kindles zealons flames with siluer strings. 

This day a sacrifice of praise requires, 

Our brests are altars, and our ioyes are fires. 

That sacred head, so oft, so strangely blest 

From bloody plots, was now — feare ! — deprest 

Beneath the water, and those sunlike beames 

Were threatened to be quencht in narrow streames. 

Ah ! who dare thinke, or can indure to heare 

Of those sad dangers, which then seem'd so neare ? 

What Pan would haue preseru'd our flocks' increase 

Prom wolues ? What Hermes could with words of 

Cause whetted swords to fall from angry hands, 
And shine the starre of calmes in christian Lands ? 
But Thou, Whose eye to hidden depths extends, 
To shew that he was made for glorious ends, 
Hast rays' d him by thine All- commanding arine, 
Not onely safe from death, but free from harme. 



llREAT king, the sou'raigne ruler of this 
By whose graue care, our hopes securely 
stand : 
Since you descending from that spacious reach, 
Vouchsafe to be our Master, and to teach 
Your English poets to direct their lines, 
To mixe their colours, and expresse their signes : 
Forgiue my boldnesse, that I here present 
The life of Muses yeelding true content 
In ponder' d numbers, which with ease I try'd, 
When your iudicious rules haue been my guide. 
He makes sweet musick, who in serious lines, 
Light dancing tunes, and heauy prose declines : 
When verses like a milky torrent flow, 
They equall temper in the poet show. 
He paints true formes, who with a modest heart, 
Giues lustre to his worke, yet couers art. 2 

1 James 1st., who it must be remembered had so early as 
1584, published his u Essay es of a prentise, in the divine 
art of poesie." References are made to this quaint and 
still quick treatise by Beaumont, supra. G. 
2 "Ars est celare artem." G. 


Vneuen swelling is no way to fame, 

But solid ioining of the perfect frame : 

So that, no curious 1 finger there can find 

The former chinkes, or nailes that fastly bind. 

Yet most would haue the knots of stitches seene, 

And holes where men may thrust their hands . 

On halting feet the ragged poem goes 
With accents, neither fitting verse nor prose : 
The stile mine eare with more contentment fills 
In lawyers' pleadings, or phisicians' bills. 
For though in termes of art their skill they close, 
And ioy in darksome words as well as those : 
They yet haue perfect sense more pure and cleare 
Then enuious Muses, which sad garlands weare 
Of dusky clouds, their strange conceits to hide 
From humane eyes : and — lest they should be spi'd 
Ey some sharpe Oedipus — the English tongue 
For this their poore ambition suffers wrong. 
In eu'ry language now in Europe spoke 
Ey Nations which the Roman Empire broke, 
The relish of the Muse consists in rime, 
One verse must meete another like a chime. 
Our Saxon shortnesse hath peculiar grace 
In choice of words, fit for the ending place : 

1 Skilful, as before. G. 


Which leaue impression in the mind as well 

As closing sounds, of some delightfull bell : 

These must not be with disproportion lame, 

STor should an eccho still repeate the same. 

In many changes these may be exprest : 

But those that ioyne most simply, run the best : 

Their forme surpassing farre the fettr'd staues, 

Vaine care, and needlesse repetition saues. 

These outward ashes keepe those inward fires, 1 

"Whose heate the Greeke and Roman works inspires ; 

Pure phrase, fit epithets, a sober care 

Of metaphors, descriptions cleare, yet rare, 

Similitudes contracted smooth and round, 

Not vext by learning, but with nature crown'd : 

Strong figures drawne from deepe inuention's 

Consisting lesse in words, and more in things : 
A language not affecting ancient times, 
jNor Latine shreds, by which the pedant climes : 
A noble subiect which the mind may lift 
To easie vse of that peculiar gift, 
Which poets in their raptures hold most deare, 
When actions by the liuely sound appeare. 
Giue me such helpes, I neuer will despaire, 

1 " E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires." Gkay. G. 


But that our heads which sucke the freezing aire, 
As well as hotter braines, may verse adorne, 
And be their wonder, as we were their scorne. 


EEPE, ye nymphes : that from your 
caues may flow 
Those trickling drops, whence mighty 

riuers gow. 2 
Disclose your hidden store : let eu'ry spring 
To this our sea of griefe some tribute bring : 
And when ye once haue wept your fountaines dry, 
The heau'n with showres will send a new supply. 
But if these cloudy treasures prooue too scant, 
Our teares shall helpe, when other moystures 

This He, nay Europe, nay the World bewailes 
Our losse, with such a streame as neuer failes. 
Abundant floods from euery letter rise, 

1 Died 27th March, 1625. G. 

2 Misprinted ' flow ' as in previous line : but corrected 
contemporaneously in my copy, as above. G. 


When we pronounce, great lames, our soueraigne 

And while I write these words, I trembling stand, 
A sudden darkenesse hath possest the Land. 
I cannot now expresse my selfe by signes : 
All eyes are blinded, none can reade my lines ; 
Till Charles ascending, driues away the night, 
And in his splendour giues my verses light. 
Thus by the beames of his succeeding flame, 
I shall describe his father's boundlesse fame. 
The Grecian emp'rours gloried to be borne, 
And nurst in purple, by their parents worne. 
See here a king, whose birth together twines 
The Britan, English, Norman, Scottish lines : 
How like a princely throne his cradle stands ; 
While 1 diadems become his swathing bands. 
His glory now makes all the Earth his tombe, 
But enuious fiends would in his mother's wombe 
Interre his rising greatnesse, and contend 
Against the babe : whom heau'nly troopes defend, 
And giue such vigour in his childhood's- state, 
That he can strangle snakes, which swell with hate. 
This conquest his vndaunted brest declares 
In seas of danger, in a world of cares : 
Yet neither cares oppresse his constant mind, 

1 Misprinted white ? Gr. 


Nor dangers drowne his life, for age design' d. 
The Muses leaue their sweet Castalian springs 
In forme of bees, extending silken wings 
With gentle sounds, to keepe this infant still, 
While they his mouth with pleasing hony fill. 
Hence those large streames of eloquence proceed, 
Which in the hearers strange amazement breed : 
When laying by his scepters and his swords, 
He melts their hearts with his mellifluous words. 
So Hercules in ancient pictures fain'd, 
Could draw whole Nations to his tongue enchain'd. 
He firsts considers in his tender age, 
How Grod hath rays' d him on this earthly stage, 
To act a part, expos' d to eu'ry eye : 
With Salomon he therefore striues to flie 
To Him that gaue this greatnesse, and demands 
The precious gift of wisdome from His hands : 
While God delighted with this iust request, 
Not onely him, with wondrous prudence blest, 
But promis'd higher glories, new encrease 
Of kingdomes circled with a ring of peace. 
He thus instructed by diuine commands, 
Extends this peacefull line to other Lands. 
When warres are threaten'd by shril trumpets 

His oliue stancheth bloud, and binds vp wounds. 
The Christian world this good from him deriues, 


That thousands had vntimely spent their lines, 

If not present d by lustre of his crowne : 

Which calm'd the stormes, and layd the billowes 

down : 
And dimm'd the glory of that Roman wreath 
By souldiers gain'd for sauing men from death. 
This Denmarke felt, and Swethland, when their 

Ascended to such height, that losse of life 
"Was counted nothing : for the dayly sight 
Of dying men made Death no more then night. 
Behold, two potent princes deepe engag'd 
In seu'rall int'rests, mutually enrag'd 
By former conflicts : yet they downe will lay 
Their swords, when his aduice directs the way. 
The Northerne climates from dissention barr'd, 
Receiue new ioyes by his discreete award. 
"When Momus could among the godlike-kings, 
Infect with poyson those immortall springs 
Which flow with nectar; and such gall would 

As spoyles the sweetnesse of ambrosiae's taste ; 
This mighty lord, as ruler of the quire, 
With peacefull counsels quencht the rising fire. 
The Austrian arch-duke, and Batauian State, 
By his endcuours, change their long-bred hate 
For twelue yeers truce : this rest to him they owe, 


As Belgian shepherds, and poore ploughmen know. 
The Muscouites opprest with neighbours, flie 
To safe protection of his watchfull eye. 
And Germany his ready succour tries, 
When sad contentions in the Empire rise. 
His mild instinct all Christians thus discerne, 
But Christ's malignant foes shall find him sterne. 
What care, what charge he suffers to preuent, 
Lest infidels their number should augment ; 
His ships restraine the pirates bloody workes ; 
And Poland gaines his ayde against the Turkes, 
His pow'rfull edicts stretcht b eyond the line, 
Among the Indians seu'rall bounds designe ; 
By which his subiects may exalt his throne, 
And strangers keepe themselues within their owne. 
This He was made the sunne's ecliptick way, 
For here our Phoebus still vouchsaf 'd to stay : 
And from this blessed place of his retreat, 
In difPrent zones distinguisht cold and heate, 
Sent light or darknesse, and by his commands 
Appointed limits to the seas and lands ; 
Who would imagine, that a prince employed 
In such affaires, could euer haue enioy'd 
Those houres, which drawne from pleasure, and 

from rest, 
To purchase precious knowledge, were addrest ? 
And yet in learning he was knowne t' exceed 


Most, whom our houses of the Muses breed. 

Ye English sisters, nurses of the Arts, 

Vnpartiall iudges of his better parts ; 

Raise vp your wings, and to the world declare 

His solid iudgement, his inuention rare, 

His ready elocution, which ye found 

In deepest matters, that your schooles propound. 

It is sufficient for my creeping verse, 

His care of English language to rehearse. 

He leades the lawlesse poets of our times, 

To smoother cadence, to exacter rimes : 

He knew it was the proper work of kings, 

To keepe proportion, eu'n in smallest things. 

He with no higher titles can be styl'd, 

When seruants name him lib'rall, subiects mild. 

Of Antonine's faire time the Eomans tell, 

No bubbles of ambition then could swell 

To forraine warres ; nor ease bred ciuill strife, 

Nor any of the senate lost his life. 

Our king preserues for two and twenty yeeres, 

This realme from inward and from outward feares. 

All English peeres escape the deadly stroke, 

Though some with crimes his anger durst prouoke. 

He was seucre in wrongs, which others felt, 

But in his owne, his heart would quickly melt. 

For then — like God, from Whom his glories flow — 

He makes his mercy swift, his iustice slow. 


He neuer would our gen'rall ioy forget, 
When on his sacred brow the crowne was set ; 
And therefore striues to make his kingdome great, 
By fixing here his heires' perpetuall seate : 
Which eu'ry firme and loy all heart desires, 
May last as long as heau'n hath starry fires. 
Continued blisse from him this Land receiues, 
When leauing vs, to vs his sonne he leaues ; 
Our hope, our ioy, our treasure : Charles our .king, 
Whose entrance in my next attempt I sing. 


|URORA come : why should thine enuious 
Deferre the ioyes of this expected day ? 
Will not thy master let his horses runne, 
Because he feares to meete another sunne ? 
Or hath our Northerne starre so dimm'd thine eyes, 
Thou knowest not where — at East or West — to 

Make haste, for if thou shalt denie thy light, 

1 Succeeded his father, James, in 1625. G. 


His glitt'ring crowne will driue away the night. 
Debarre not curious Phoebus, who desires 
To guild all glorious obiects with his fires. 
And could his beanies lay open people's harts, 
As well as he can view their outward parts ; 
He heere should find a triumph, such as he 
Hath neuer seene, perhaps shall neuer see. 

Shine forth, great Charles, accept our loyall 
Throw from your pleasing eies those conqu'ring 

That when vpon your name our voyces call, 
The birds may feele our thund'ring noise, and fall: 
Soft ayre rebounded in a circled ring, 
Shall to the gates of heau'n our wishes bring : 
For vowes, which with so strong affection flie 
From many lips, will doubtlesse pierce the skie : 
And God — Who knowes the secrets of our minds, 
"When in our brests He these two vertues finds, 
Sincerity and concord, ioin'd in pray'r 
For him, — whom nature made vndoubted heyre 
Of three faire kingdomes — will His angels send 
"With blessings from His throne, this pompe t' 

Faire citty, England's gemme, the queene of trade, 
By sad infection lately desart made : 
Cast off thy mourning robes, forget thy teares, 


Thy cleare and healthful! Iupiter appeares : 
Pale Death, who had thy silent streets possest, 
And some foule dampe, or angry planet prest 
To work his rage, now from th' Almightie's will 
Beceiues command to hold his iauelin still. 
But since my Muse pretends to tune a song 
Fit for this day, and fit V inspire this throng; 
Whence shall I kindle such immortall fires ? 
Prom ioyes or hopes, from prayses or desires ? 
To prayse him, would require an endlesse wheele ; 
Yet nothing told but what we see and feele. 
A thousand tongues for him all gifts intreate 
In which Felicity may claime her seate : 
Large honour, happy conquest, boundlesse wealth, 
Long life, sweete children, vnafflicted health : 
But chiefely, we esteeme that precious thing 
— Of which already we behold the spring — 
Directing "Wisdome ; and we now presage 
How high that vertue will ascend in age. % 
In him, our certaine confidence vnites 
All former worthy princes' spreading lights ; 
And addes his glorious father to the summe : 
From ancient times no greater name can come. 
Our hopefull king thus to his subiects shines, 
And reades in faithfull hearts these zealous lines ; 
This is our Countrie's father, this is hee 
In whom we Hue, and could not Hue so free, 


Were we not ynder him : his watchfull care 
Preuents our dangers : how shall we declare 
Our thankfull minds, but by the humble gift 
Of firme obedience, which to him we lift ? 
As he is God's true image choicely wrought, 
And for our ioy to these dominions brought : 
So must we imitate celestiall bands, 
Which grudge not to performe diuine commands. 
His brest, transparent like a liquid flood, 
Discouers his aduice for publike good : 
But if we iudge it by decerning fame, 
Like Semele, we thinke Ioue's piercing flame 
No more, then common fire in ashes nurst, 
Till formelesse fancies in their errors burst. 
Shall we discusse his counsels ? We are blest 
Who know our blisse, and in his iudgement rest. 


HE happy ship that carries from the Land 

Great Britaine's ioy, before she knowes 
her losse, 

1 Tho story of the (intended) Spanish ' Marriage ' has 
only just been adequately told, in the matter-ful volumes 
of Mr. S. 11. Gardiner thereon, with abundance of side- 
light on the whole events of the period. G. 


Is rul'd by Him, Who can the waues command. 

No enuious stormes a quiet passage crosse : 

See how the water smiles, the winde breathes 

The cloudes restraine their frownes, their sighes, 

their teares, 
As if the musicke of the whisp'ring ayre 
Should tell the sea what precious weight it beares. 
A thousand vowes and wishes driue the sayles 
With gales of safety to the JNeustrian shore. 
The ocean, trusted with this pledge, bewailes 
That it such wealth must to the Earth restore : 
Then Prance, receiving with a deare imbrace 
This Northerne starre, though clouded and dis- 
Beholds some hidden vertue in his face, 
And knowes he is a iewell highly priz'd. 
Tet there no pleasing sights can make him stay ; 
For, like a riuer sliding to the maine, 
He hastes to find the period of his way, 
And drawne by loue, drawes all our hearts to 




HEN Charles from vs withdrawes his 
glorious light, 
The sunne desires his absence to supply : 
And that we may nothing in darknesse lie, 
He striues to free the North from dreadfull night. 
Yet we to Phoebus scarce erect our sight, 

But all our lookes, our thoughtes to Charles 

And in the best delights of life we die, 
Till he returne and make this climate bright. 

Now he ascends and giues Apollo leaue 
To driue his horses to the lower part ; 

We by his presence like content receiue, 
As when fresh spirits aide the fainting heart. 
Rest here — great Charles — and shine to vs alone, 
For other starres are common ; Charles our owne. 


YR Charles, whose horses neuer quencht 
their heate, 
In cooling waues of Neptune's watry 
seate : 



Whose starry chariot in the spangled night, 
"Was still the pleasing obiect of our sight : 
This glory of the North hath lately runne 
A course as round and certaine as the sunne : 
He to the South inclining halfe the yeere, 
Now at the Tropike will againe appeare. 
He made his setting in the Western streames, 
Where weary Phoebus dips his fading beames : 
But in this morning our erected eyes 
Become so happy as to see him rise. 
We shall not euer in the shadow stay, 
His absenee was to bring a longer day ; 
That hauing felt how darknesse can affright, 
We may with more content embrace the light, 
And call to mind, how eu'ry soule with paine 
Sent forth her throwes 1 to fetch him home againe : 
For want of him we wither' d in the Spring, 
But his returne shall life in Winter bring : 
The plants, which, when he went, were growing 

Eetaine their former Liu'ries to be seene, 
When he reuiewes them : his expected eye 
Preseru'd their beauty, ready oft to die. 2 

1 Throes = prayers. G. 

2 The conceits of our Poet above, are found in a quaintly - 
exaggerate form in an otherwise sorry volume, viz, N. 


What tongue ? what hand can to the life display 
The glorious ioy of this triumphant day ? 

Hookes's " Amanda : a Sacrifice to an unknown Goddesse, 
or a Free-Will Offering of a loving heart to a Sweet- 
heart " (1653). I give a place to the Lines here : 


And now what monarch would not gard'ner be, 

My faire Amanda's stately gate to see : 

How her feet tempt ! how soft and light she treads, 

Fearing to wake the flowers from their beds ! 

Yet from their sweet green pillowes ev'ry where, 

They start and gaze about to see my faire ; 

Look at yon flower yonder, how it growes 

Sensibly ! how it opes its leaves and blowes, 

Puts its Easter clothes on, neat and gay ! 

Amanda's presence makes it holy-day : 

Look how on tip-toe that faire lilie stands 

To look on thee, and court thy whiter hands 

To gather it ! I saw in yonder croud 

That tulip-bed, of which dame-Flora's proud, 

A short dwarfe flower did enlarge its stalk, 

And shoot an inch to see Amanda walk ; 

Nay, look, my fairest, look how fast they grow ! 

Into a scaffold method spring ! as though 

Biding to parl'ament were to be seen 

In pomp and state some royal am'rous queene : 

The gravel'd walks, though ev'n as a die, 

Lost some loose pebbles should offensive lie, 


When England crown' d with many thousand fires, 
Receiues the scope of all her best desires. 
She at his sight, as with an earthquake swells, 
And strikes the heau'n with sound of trembling 

Quilt themselves o're with downie mosse for thee, 
The walls are hang'd with blossom' d tapestrie ; 
To hide her nakednesse when look't upon, 
The maiden fig-tree puts Eve's apron on ; 
The broad-lea v*d sycomore, and ev'ry tree 
Shakes like the trembling aspe, and bends to thee, 
And each leaf proudly strives with fresher aire, 
To fan the curled tresses of thy hair ; 
Nay, and the bee too, with his wealthie thigh, 
Mistakes his hive, and to thy lips doth flie ; 
Willing to treasure up his honey there, 
Where honey -combs so sweet and plenty are : 
Look how that pretty modest columbine 
Hangs down its head to view those feet of thine ! 
See the fond motion of the strawberrie, 
Creeping on th' earth to go along with thee ! 
The lovely violet makes after too, 
Unwilling yet, my dear, to part with you ; 
The knot-grasse and the daizes catch thy toes 
To kisse my faire one's feet before she goes ; 
All court and wish me lay Amanda down, 
And give my dear a new green-flower' d gown. 
Come let me kisse thee falling, kisse at rise, 
Thou in the Garden, I in Paradise." (pp 42-44.) G. 


The vocall goddesse leauing desart woods, 
Slides downe the vales ; and dancing on the floods, 
Obsernes our words, and with repeating noise 
Contends to double our abundant ioyes. 
The "World's cleare eye is iealous of his name, 
He sees this He like one continuall flame, 
And feares lest earth a brighter starre should breed, 
Which might vpon his meate, the vapours, feed. 
We maruell not that in his father's land 
So many signes of loue and seruice stand : 
Behold how Spaine retaines in eu'ry place 
Some bright reflection of his chearefull face ; 
Madrid, where first his splendor he displayes, 
And driues away the clouds that dimm'd his rayes, 
Her ioyes into a world of formes doth bring, 
Yet none contents her ; while that potent king 
Who rules so farre, till now could neuer find 
His realmes and wealth too little for his mind. 
No words of welcome can such planets greete, 
Where in one house they by coniunction meete. 
Their sacred concord runnes through many signes, 
And to the Zodiake's better portion shines : 
But in the Virgin they are seene most farre, 
And in the Lyon's heart, the kingly starre. 
When towards vs our prince his iourney moues, 
And feeles attraction of his seruants loues ; 
When — hauing open brests of strangers knowne — 


He hastes to gather tribute of his owne ; 
The ioyfull neighbours all his passage fill 
With noble trophees of his might and skill 
In eonqu'ring mens affections with his darts ; 
Which deepely fixt in many rauisht hearts, 
Are like the starry chaines, whose blazes play 
In knots of light along the Milkey Way. 
He heares the newes of his approaching Meet, 
And will his Nauy see, his sernants greet ; 
Thence to the Land returning in his barge, 
The waues leape high, as proud of such a charge ; 
The Mght makes speed to see him, and preuents 
The slouthfull twilight, casting duskie tents 1 
On roring streames, which might all men dismay 
But him, to whose cleare soule the night is day. 
The pressing windes with their officious strife, 
Had caus'd a tumult dang'rous to his life : 
But their Commander checks them, and restraines 
Their hasty feruour, in accustom' d chaines : 
This perill — which with feare our words decline — 
Was then permitted by the hand diuine, 
That good euent might prooue his person deare 
To heau'n, and needfull to the people here. 
When he resolues to crosse the watry maine, 
See what a change his absence makes in Spaine ! 

1 Qu : clouds in shape of tents ? Gr. 


The earth tumes gray for griefe that she conceiues, 
Birds lose their tongues, and trees forsake their 

Now floods of teares expresse a sad far[e]well, 
Ambitious sayles as with his greatnesse swell ; 
To him old Nereus on his dolphin rides : 
Presenting bridles to direct the tides, 
He calles his daughters from their secret caues, 
— Their snowy necks are seen aboue the waues — » 
And saith to them : Behold the onely sonne 
Of that great lord, about whose kingdomes run 
Our liquid currents, which are made his owne, 
And with moyst bulwarks guard his sacred throne : 
See how his lookes delight, his gestures moue 
Admire and praise, yet flye from snares of loue : 
Not Thetes 1 with her beauty and her dowre, 
Can draw this Peleus to her watry bowre ; 
He loues a nymph of high and heau'nly race, 
The eu'ning sunne doth homage to her face. 
Hesperian orchards yeeld her golden fruit, 
He tooke this iourney in that sweet pursuit. 
When thus their father ends, the Nereids throw 
Their garlands on this glorious prince, and strow 
His way with songs, in which the hopes appeare 
Of ioyes too great for humane cares to hearc. 

1 Thetis. G. 



E now admire their doctrine, who main- 
The World's creation vnder Autumne's 
reigne ; 
When trees ahonnd in fruit, grapes swell with iuice, 
These meates are ready for the creatures vse : 
Old Time resolues to make a new suruay 
Of yeeres and ages from this happy day ; 
Refusing those accounts which others bring, 
He crownes October, as of moneths the king. 
No more shall hoary Winter claime the place, 
And draw cold proof es from Ianus' double face ; 
Nor shall the Ram, when Spring the earth adornes, 
Vnlocke the gate of heau'n with golden homes : 
Dry Summer shall not of the dog-starre boast 
— Of angry constellations honour' d most — 
Erom whose strong heate Egyptians still begun, 
To marke the turning circle of the sunne. 
Vertumnus, who hath lordly power to change 
The seasons, and can them in order range, 
Will from this period fresh beginning take ; 
Yet not so much for his Pomonae's sake, 
Who then is richly drest to please her spouse, 


And with her orchards' treasure deckes her browes. 
It is our Charles, whose euer loued name, 
Hath made this point of heau'n increase in fame : 
Whose long-thought absence was so much deplor'd, 
In whom our hopes and all our fruits are stor'd. 
He now attaines the shore — blessed day — 
And true Achates waites along his way, 
Our wise Anchises for his sonne prouides 
This chosen seruant, as the best of guides. 
A prince's glory cannot more depend 
Ypon his crowne, then on a faithfull friend. 


IUINE example of obedient heires, 
High in my hopes, and second in my 
prayers : 

True image of your father to the life, 
Whom Time desir'd, and Fates in iealous strife, 
With chearefull voices taught their wheeles to 

That such a father might haue such a sonne ; 
Since God exalts you on this earthly stage, 
And giues you wisedome farre aboue your age, 


To iudge of men, and of their actiue pow'rs : 
Let me lay downe the fruits of priuate houres 
Before your feet : you neuer will refuse 
This gift, which beares the title of a Muse. 

Among your serious thoughts, with noble care 
Tou cherish poets, knowing that they are 
The starres, which light to famous actions giue, 
By whom the mem'ries of good princes Hue : 
You are their prince in a peculiar kind, 
Because your father hath their Art refin'd. 
And though these priests of greatnesse, quiet sit 
Amid'st the silent children of their wit, 
Without accesse of sutours, or dispatch 
Of high affaires, at which th' ambitious catch ; 
They are not idle, when their sight they rayse 
Beyond the present time to future daies ; 
And braue examples, sage instructions bring 
In pleasing verses, which our sonnes may sing. 
They oft erect their flight aboue the Land, 
"When graue TJrania ioyning hand in hand 
"With soft Thalia, mix their different strings, 
And by their musick make celestiall things 
More fit for humane eares ; whose winding rounds 
Are easly fill'd with well digested sounds. 
Pale Enuy and dull Ignorance reproue 
This exercise, as onely apt for loue ; 
Deuis'd failure the sense with curious art, 


But not t' enrich the vnderstanding part. 

So might they say, the sunne was onely fram'd 

To please the eye, and onely therefore nam'd 

The eye of heau'n, concerning not his wheele 

Of liuely heate, which lower bodies feele. 

Our Muses striue, that Common- wealths may be 

As well from barb'rous deedes, as language free : 

The seu'rall sounds in harmony combin'd, 

Knit chaines of vertue in the hearers mind : 

And that he still may haue his teacher by, 

"With measur'd lines, we please his curious eye. 

We hold those works of Art, or Nature best, 

Where Order's steps most fully are exprest 

And therefore all those ciuill men that liue 

Ey law and rule, will to our numbers giue 

The name of good, in which perfection rests ; 

And feele their strokes with sympathyzing brests. 

Not oratours so much with flowing words, 

Can sway the hearts of men, and whet their swords : 

Or blunt them at their pleasure, as our straines, 

— Whose larger spheare the orbe of prose containes 

— Can mens affections lessen or increase, 

And guide their passions whisp'ring warre or peace. 

Tyrta3us by the vigour of his verse, 

Made Sparta conquer, while his lines reherse 

Her former glory ; almost then subdude 

Ey stronger foes ; and when the people rude 


Contend among themselues with mutuall wrongs, 

He tempers discord with, his milder songs : 

This poore lame poet hath an equall praise 

"With captaines, and with states-men of his dayes : 

The Mnses claime possession in those men, 

Who first aduentur'd with a nimble pen 

To paint their thoughts, in new innented signes, 

And spoke of Nature's workes in numbred lines : 

This happy Art, compar'd with plainer wayes, 

"Was sooner borne, and not so soone decayes : 

She safer stands from Time's deuouring wrong, 

As better season' d to continue long; 

But as the streames of Time, still forward flow, 

So wits, more idle and distrustfull grow : 

They ye eld this fort, and cowardly pretend 

Prose is a castle easier to defend ; 

Nor was this change effected in a day, 

But with degrees, and by a stealing way ; 

They pull the Muse's feathers one by one, 

And are not seene till both the wings be gone. 

If man injoying such a precious mine, 

Esteem' d his nature almost made diuine : 

When he beheld th' expression of his thought, 

To such a height, and godlike glory brought : 

This change may well his fading ioy confound, 

To see it naked, creeping on the ground ; 

Yet in the Lands that honour' d Learning's name, 


Were alwayes some that kept the vestall flame 
Of pow'rfull verse, on whose increase or end, 
The periods of the soule's chiefe raine depend. 
!N"ow in this realme I see the golden age 
Eeturne to vs, whose comming shall asswage 
Distracting strife, and many hearts inspire, 
To gather fewell for this sacred fire : 
On which, if yon, great prince, yonr eyes will cast, 
And like Fauonius, gine a gentle blast : 
The linely flame shall neuer yeeld till death, 
But gaine immortall spirit by your breath. 


P eu'ry man a little world we name, 
You are a world most like the greatest 
frame : 

Your loue of learning spreads your glory farre, 
Lifts you to heau'n, and makes you there a starre. 
In actiue sports, and formes of martiall deeds, 
Like fire and ayre, your nimble courage breeds 
A rare amazement, and a sweet delight 
To Brittaines, who behold so deare a sight : 
Though higher orbes such glorious signes containe, 
Do not — braue prince — this lower globe disdaine. 
In pure and fruitfull waters we may see 


Your minde from darknesse cleare, in bounty free : 
And in the steddy resting of the ground, 
Your noble firmenesse to your friend is found : 
For you are still the same, and where you loue, 
jSTo absence can your constant mind remoue. 
So goodnesse spreads itselfe with endlesse lines, 
And so the light in distant places shines : 
He that aduentures of your worth to sing, 
Attempts in vaine, to paint a boundlesse thing. 


HE Ocean long contended — bnt in vaine — 
To part our shore from Erance. 
Let Neptune shake his mace, and swelling 
waues aduance : 
The former vnion now returnes againe, 
This Isle shall once more kisse the maine 
loyn'd with a flowry bridge of loue, on which the 
Graces dance. 

1 The ' queen ' was Maria Henrietta of France. Our 
Poet was no Seer. G. 



Leander here no dang 'rous iourney takes, 

To reach his Hero's hand : 

Our Hellespont with ships becomes as firme as 


"When this sweete nymph her place of birth 

forsakes ; 
And England, signes of welcome makes 
As many, as our gladsome coasts haue little graines 
of sand. 
That voyce, in which the Continent was blest, 
Now to this Hand calls 
The liuing woods and rocks, to frame new rising 
walls : 
The moouing hills salute this happy guest, 
The riuers to her seruice prest, 
Seine into Thames, Garonne to Trent, and Loire ta 
Seuerne falls. 
The royall payre, the bridegroome and the bride, 
With equall glory shine : 
Eoth full of sparkling light, both sprung from 
race diuine. 
Their princely fathers, Europ's highest pride, 
The westerne world did sweetly guide : 
To them as fathers of their realmes, we golden 
crownes assigne. 
Great Henry, neuer vanquisht in the field, 
Rebellious foes could tame. 


The wisdom e of our James bred terror in his name : 
So that his proudest aduersaries yeeld, 
Glad to be guarded with his shield, 
"Where Peace with drops of heau'nly dew supprest 
Dissention's flame. 
Our Charles and Mary now their course prepare, 
Like those two greater lights, 
Which God in midst of Heau'n exalted to our 
To guide our footsteps with perpetuall care ; 
Time's happy changes to declare : 
The one affoords vs healthfull daies, the other quiet 
See how the planets, and each lesser fire 
Along the Zodiake glide, 
And in his stately traine their offices diuide ! 
No starre remaines exempted from this quire, 
Eut all are ioyn'd in one desire, 
To mooue, as these their wheeles shall turne, and rest 
where they abide. 
What can these shouts and glitt'ring showes 
Eut neuer-fading ioyes ? 
The lords in rich attire, the people with theii* 
Expresse to what a height their hopes ascend^ 
Which like a circle haue no end : 



Their strength no furious tempests shake, nor creep- 
ing age destroyes. 
On this foundation we expect to build 
The towres of earthly blisse. 
Mirth shall attend on Health, and Peace shall 
Plenty kisse : 
The trees with fruite, with flowres our gardens 
Sweete honey from the leaues distill' d ; 
For now Astrsea's raigne appeares to be a tipe of this- 
may our children with our rauish't eyes 
A race of sonnes behold, 
Whose birth shall change our ir'n to siluer, brass 
to gold. 
Proceede white houres, that from this stocke 
may rise 
Yictorious kings, whom Fame shall prize 
More dearely, then all other names within her booke 


OUR royall father lames, the good and 
Proclaim'd in March, when first we felt 
the Spring, 


A world of blisse did to our Hand bring : 
And at his death he made his yeeres compleate, 
Although three dayes he longer held his seate, 
Then from that houre when he reioyc'd to sing, 
Great Brittaine torne before, enioyes a king : 
Who can the periods of the starres repeate ? 
The sunne, who in his annuall circle takes 
A daye's full quadrant from th' ensuing yeere, 
Eepayes it in foure yeeres, and equall makes 
The number of the dayes within his spheare : 

lames was our earthly sunne, who call'd to 

Leaues you his heire, to make all fractions eu'n. 


^EOUT the time when dayes are longer 

When nights are warmer, and the aire 

more cleare, 
When verdant leaues and fragrant fiowres appeare ; 
Whose beauty, Winter had constrained to fade. 
About the time, when Gabriel's words perswade 
The blessed virgin to incline her eare, 
And to conceyue that Sonne, whom she shall beare ; 
Whose death and rising driue away the shade. 


About this time, so oft, so highly blest 
By precious gifts of Nature and of Grace, 
First glorious lames, the English erowne possest : 
Then gracious Charles succeeded in his place. 
For him his subiects wish with hearty words, 
Both what this world, and what the next affords. 


pEUEEE and serious Muse 
Whose quill, the name of loue 

Be not too nice, nor this deare worke refuse : 
Here Yenus stirs no flame, nor Cupid guides thy 


1 George Villiers, ultimately Duke of Buckingham, fills 
too large a space in English history to need annotation 
here. Born on August 20th, 1592, he died by the hand of 
Felton, August 23rd, 1628. The tributes paid to him here 
and elsewhere, by our poet, seem to vouch for more brain- 
power and heart than are usually allowed 'The Favourite' 
of James and Charles. His ' faire and virtuous lady ', 
Lady Catherine Manners, was daughter of Francis, Earl 
of Rutland, and one of the richest-dowered heiresses in the 


But modest Hymen shakes his torch, and chast 
Lucina shines. 
The bridegroome's starres arise ! 
Maydes, turne your sight, your faces hide : 
Lest ye be ship wrack' t in those sparkling eyes, 
Fit to be seene by none, but by his louely bride : 
If him Narcissus should behold, he would forget his 
And thou faire nymph appeare 
With blushes, like the purple Morne ; 
If now thine eares will be content to heare 
The title of a wife, we shortly will adorne 
Thee with a ioyfull mother's name, when some sweet 
childe is borne. 
We wish a sonne, whose smile, 
Whose beauty may proclaim e him thine ; 
Who may be worthy of his father's stile, 
May answere to our hopes, and strictly may com- 

kingdom. She is, according to Nichols's Leicestershire, 
"The Shepherdesse " of Sir John Beaumont's Poem of 
that name : and accordingly I have placed it immediately 
after the present. (Vol. iv., pt. 2nd., p 621.) A pedigree 
in Nichols's Leicestershire probably explains our Poet's 
friendship with the Buckinghams. It appears Anthony 
Beaumont, of Glenfield, had a daughter (his 4th) Mary, 
who married Sir George Villiers of Brookesby, father of 
George Villiers, duke of Buckingham. G. 


The happy height of Villier's race, with noble 
Rutland's line. 
Let both their heads be crown' d 
With choycest flowers, which shall presage 
That loue shall flourish, and delights abound ; 
Time, adde thou many dayes, nay ages to their 

Yet neuer must thy freezing arme, their holy fires 
ass wage. 
Now when they ioyne their hands, 
Behold, how faire that knot appeares. 
may the firmenesse of these nuptial! bands 
Eesemble that bright line the measure of the 

"Which makes a league betweene the poles, and 
ioynes the hemispheres. 


SHEPERDESSE, who long had kept her 

On stony Charn wood's dry and barren rocks> 
In heate of Summer to the vales declin'd, 
To seeke fresh pasture for her lambes halfe pin'd. 
She — while her charge was feeding — spent the 


To gaze on sliding brookes, and smiling flowres, 
Thus hauing largely stray' d, she lifts her sight, 
And yiewes a palace full of glorious light. 
She finds the entrance open, and as bold 
As countrey maids, that would the Court behold, 
She makes an offer, yet again she stayes, 
And dares not dally with those sunny rayes. 
Here lay a nymph, of beauty most diuine, 
Whose happy presence caus'd the house to shine ; 
"Who much eonuerst with mortals, and could know 
No honour truly high, that scornes the low : 
For she had oft been present, though vnseene, 
Among the shepherds' daughters on the greene ; 
Where eu'ry homebred swaine desires to proue 
His oaten pipe and feet, before his loue, 
And crownes the eu'ning, when the daies are 

With some plaine dance, or with a rurall song, 
Nor were the women nice to hold this sport, 
And please their louers in a modest sort. 
There that sweet nymph had seene this countrey 

Tor singing crown' d, whence grew a world of 

Among the sheepcotes ; which in her reioyce, 
And know no better pleasure then her voyce. 
The glitt'ring ladies gather' d in a ring, 


Intreate the silly 1 shepherdesse to sing : 

She blusht and sung, while they with words of 

Contend her songs aboue their worth to raise. 
Thus being chear'd with many courteous signes, 
She takes her leaue, for now the sun declines ; 
And hauing driuen home her flocks againe, 
She meets her loue, a simple shepherd swaine ; 
Yet in the plaines he had a poet's name : 
For he could roundelayes and carols frame, 
Which, when his mistresse sung along the downes, 
Was thought celestiall musick by the clownes. 
Of him she begs, that he would raise his mind 
To paint this lady, whom she found so kind : 
You oft — saith she — haue in our homely bow'rs 
Discours'd of demi-gods and greater pow'rs : 
For you, with Hesiode sleeping, learnt to know 
The race diuine from heau'n to earth below. 
My deare — said he — the nymph whom thou hast 

Most happy is of all that liue betweene 
This globe and Cynthia, and in high estate, 
Of wealth and beauty hath an equall mate ; 
Whose louc hath drawne incessant teares in floods, 
From nymphs, that haunt the waters and the 

1 Innocent, Himplo. G. 


And 1 Iris to the ground hath bent her bow 

To steale a kisse, and then away to goe : 

Yet all in vaine, he no affection knowes 

But to this godclesse, whom at first he chose : 

Him she enioyes in mutuall bonds of loue : 

Two hearts are taught in one small point to moue. 

Her father high in honour and descent, 

Commands the syluans on the northside Trent. 

He at this time for pleasure and retreat, 

Comes down from Beluoir, his ascending seate, 

To which great Pan had lately honour done : 

For there he lay, so did his hopefull sonne. 2 

But when this lord by his accesse desires 

To grace our dales, he to a house retires, 

Whose walles are water' d with our siluer brookes, 

And makes the shepherds proud to view his lookes. 

There in that blessed house you also saw 

His lady, whose admired vertues draw 

All hearts to loue her, and all tongues inuite 

To praise that ayre where she vouchsafes her light, 

And for thy further ioy thine eyes were blest, 

To see another lady, in whose brest 

True Wisedome hath with Bounty equall place, 

1 Misprinted ' of. ' G-. 

2 The reference is to the visit of King James and Prince 
Charles, to Belvoir Castle. Gr. 


As Modesty with Beauty in her face. 
She found me singing Florae's natiue dowres, 
And made me sing before the heau'nly pow'rs : 
For which great fauour, till my voice be done, 
I sing of her, and her thrice-noble sonne. 


^EE what a full and certaine blessing flowes 
From him, that under God the earth 
commands : 

For kings are types of God, and by their hands 
A world of gifts and honours He bestowes : 
The hopeful tree thus blest securely growes, 
Amidst the waters in a firtile ground ; 
And shall with leaues, and flowres, and fruites be 

crown' d : 
Abundant dew on it the planter throwes. 
You are this plant, my lord, and must dispose 
Your noble soule, those blossomes to receiuc ; 
Which euer to the roote of Vertue cleaue, 
As our Apollo by his skill foreshowes : 
Our Salomon, in wisedome, and in peace, 
tfl now the prophet of your laire increase. 




IE, you haue euer shin'd vpon me bright, 
But now, you strike and dazle me with 
light : 

You England's radiant sunne, vouchsafe to grace 
My house, a spheare too little and too base ; 
My Burley as a cabinet containes 
The gemme of Europe, which from golden veines 
Of glorious princes, to this height is growne, 
And ioynes their precious vertues all in one : 
When I your praise would to the world professe, 
My thoughts with zeale, and earnest feruour presse 
Which should be first, and their officious strife 
Eestraines my hand from painting you to life. 
I write, and hauing written, I destroy, 
Because my lines haue bounds, but not my ioy. 


Y lines describ'd your marriage as the 
Spring ; 
Now like the reapers, of your fruite I sing, 

1 The Lady Mary Yilliers. G. 


And shew the haruest of your constant loue, 
In this sweete armefull which your joy shall proue : 
Her sexe is signe of plenty, and fore-runnes 
The pleasing hope of many noble sonnes : 
Who farre abroad their branches shall extend, 
And spread their race, till Time receiue an end. 
Be euer blest, — faire childe — that hast begunne 
So white a threed, by hands of angels spunne : 
Thou art the first, and wilt the rest beguile : 
For thou shalt rauish with a chearefull smile 
Thy parents hearts, not wonted to such blisse : 
And steale the first fruites of a tender kisse; 


j]IE, you are truely great, and eu'ry eye 
Not dimme with enuy, ioyes to see you 
high : 

But chiefely mine, which buried in the night, 
Arc by your beames rais'd and restor'd to light. 
You, onely you haue pow'r to make me dwell 
I B sight of men, drawne from my silent cell : 
Where oft in vaine my pen would hffue exprest 
Those precious gifts, in which yourminde is blest; 
But you, as much too modest are to read 


Tour prayse, as I too weake your fame to spreade. 
All curious formes, all pictures will disgrace 
Your worth ; which must be studied in your face, 
The liuely table, where your vertue shines 
More clearely, than in strong and waighty lines. 
In vaine I striue to write some noble thing, 
To make you nobler; for that prudent king, 
Whose words so oft, you happy are to heare^ 
Hath made instruction needlesse to your eare : 
Yet giue me leaue in this my silent song, 
To shew true Greatnesse, while you passe along ; 
And if you were not humble, in each line 
Might owne your selfe, and say, This grace is mine. 

They that are great, and worthy to be so, 
Hide not their rayes from meanest plants that grow. 
Why is the sunne set in a throne so hie, 
But to giue light to each inferiour eye ? 
His radiant beames distribute liuely grace 
To all, according to their worth and place ; 
And from the humble ground those vapours draine,- 
Which are sent 1 downe in fruitfull drops of raine. 
As God His greatnesse and His wisdome showes 
In kings, whose lawes the acts of men dispose ; 
So kings among their seruants those select, 
Whose noble vertues may the rest direct : 

1 Misprinted ' set'. G. 


Who must remember that their honour tends 
]S T ot to vaine pleasure, but to publike ends : 
And must not glory in their stile or birth ; 
The starres were made for man, the heau'n for 

He whose iust deedes his fellow-seruants please, 
]May seme his souraigne with more ioy and ease, 
Obeying with sincere' and faithfull loue, 
That pow'rfull hand, which giues his wheele to 

moue : 
His spheare is large ; who can his duty know 
To princes ? and respect to vs below ? 
His soule is great, when it in bounds confines 
This scale, which rays' d so high, so deepe declines: 
These are the steps> by which he must aspire 
Beyond all things which earthly hearts desire : 
And must so farre dilate his noble minde, 
Till it in heau'n eternall honour finde. 
The order of the blessed spirits there 
Must be his rule, while he inhabits here : 
He must conceiue that wordly glories are 
Yaine shadowes, seas of sorrow, springs of care : 
All things which vnder Cynthia leade their life, 
Are chain'din darknesse, borne and nurst in strife : 
None scapes the force of this destroying flood, 
But he that cleaues to God, his constant good : 
He is accurst that will delight to dwell 


In this prison, this blacke seditions hell : 

When with lesse paine he may imbrace the light, 

And on his high Creatour fixe his sight ; 

Whose gracious presence giues him perfect rest, 

And builds a Paradise within his brest : 

Where trees of vertues to their height increase, 

And beare the flowres of Ioy, the fruites of Peace. 

No enuie, no reuenge, no rage, no pride, 

No lust, nor rapine should his courses guide ; 

Though all the world conspire to doe him grace : 

Tet he is little, and extremely base, 

If in his heart, these vices take their seate ; 

— No pow'r can make the slaue of passions great. — 


jjEHOLD, the ensignes of a christian knight 
Whose field is like his minde, of siluer 
bright : 

His bloudy crosse supports fiue golden shels, 
A precious pearle, in euery scallop dwels : 
Fiue vertues grace the middle and the bounds, 
Which take their light from Christ's victorious 

wounds : 
Ypon the top, commanding Prudence shines, 




Repressing Temp'rance to the foote declines ; 
Braue Fortitude and Iustice, are the hands, 
And Charity as in the center stands : 
"Which binding all the ends with strong effect 
To euery Yertue, holds the same respect : 
May he that beares this shield, at last obtaine 
The azure circle of celestiall raigne ; 
And hauing past the course of sliding houres, 
Enioy a crowne of neuer-fading flow'rs ? 


j EE how this bird erects his constant flight 
Aboue the cloudes, aspiring to the light * 
As in a quiet paradise he dwels 
In that pure region, where no winde rebels : 
And fearing not the thunder, hath attain' d 
The palace, where the demigods remaind : 
This bird belongs to you, thrice glorious king ; 
From you the beauties of his feathers spring : 
No vaine ambition lifts him vp so high, 
But rais'd by force of your attractiue eye ; 
He feedes vpon your beames, and takes delight, 
Not in his owno ascent, but in your sight. 


Let them, whose motion to the earth declines, 
Describe your circle by the baser lines, 
And enuy at the brightnesse of your seate : 
He cannot Hue diuided from your heate. 


Y Lord, that you so welcome are to all ; 
Tou haue deseru'd it, neuer could there 

A fitter way to prooue you highly lou'd, 
Then when your selfe you from our sights remou'd : 
The clouded lookes of Brittaine sad appeare, 
"With doubtfull care — ah who can bridle feare ? — 
For their inestimable gemme perplext. 
The good and gracefull Buckingham is next 
In their desires : they to remembrance bring 
How oft, by mediation 1 with the king 
You mitigate the rigour of the lawes, 
And pleade the orphans and the widowes cause. 
My Muse, which tooke from you her life and light 
Sate like a weary wretch, whome suddaine night 
Had ouersprcd : your absence casting downe 

1 Misprinted * meditation \ G. 


The flowr's, and Sirens' feathers from her crowne ; 

Tour fauour first th' anointed head inclines 

To heare my rurall songs and reade my lines : 

Tour voyce, my reede with lofty musick reares 

To offer trembling songs to princely eares. 

But since my sou'raigne leaues in great affaires 

His trusty seruant, to his subiects pray'rs : 

I willing spare for such a noble end 

My patron and — too bold I speake — my friend. 


jlHE words of princes iustly we conceiue, 
As oracles inspir'd by pow'r diuine ; 
Which make the vertues of their servants 
And monuments to future ages leaue. 
The sweet consent of many tongues can weaue 
Such knots of honours in a flowry line, 
That no iniurious hands can them vntwine, 
Nor enuious blasts of beauty can bereaue. 

These are your helpes, my lord, by these two wingF 
Tou lifted are aboue the force of spite : 

For, while the publike quire your glory sings, 
The arme that rules them, keepes the musicke right : 
Tour happy name with noble prayse to greet 
God's double voyce, the king and kingdome meet. 



IUE leaue— my lord— to his abounding 
Whose faithfull zeale presumes to beare 
a part 
In eu'ry blessing which vpon you shines, 
And to your glory consecrates his lines ; 
Which rising from a plaine and countrey Muse, 
Must all my boldnesse with her name excuse. 
Shall Burley onely triumph in this child, 
Which by his birth is truly happy ^stil'd ? 
Nay : we will striue, that eccho with her notes, 
May draw some ioy into our homely cotes : 
While I to solitary hils retire, 
Where quiet thoughts my songs with truth inspire, 
And teach me to foretell the hopes that flow 
From this young lord, as he in yeeres shall grow. 
First, we behold — and neede not to presage — 
What pleasing comfort in this tender age 
He giues his parents, sweetning eu'ry day 
With deare contentments of his harmlesse play. 
They in this glasse their seu'rall beauties place, 
And owne themselues in his delightfull face. 
But when this flowry bud shall first beginne 


To spread his leaues which were conceal' d within ; 

And casting off the dew of childish teares, 

More glorious then the rose at noone appeares, 

His minde extends it selfe to larger bounds ; 

Instinct of gen'rous nature oft propounds : 

— Great duke — your .actiue graces to his sight, 

As obiects full of wonder and delight : 

These in his thoughts entire possession keep, 

They stop his play, and interrupt his sleepe. 

So doth a carefull painter fixe his eyes 

Vpon the patterne, which before him lies, 

And neuer from the boorcl his hand withdrawes, 

Vntil the type be like th' exemplar cause. 

To courtly dancing now he shall incline, 

To manage horses, and in armes to shine. 

Such ornaments of youth are but the seeds 

Of noble vertues, and heroick deeds. 

He will not rest in any outward part, 

But striues t'expresse the riches of your heart 

"Within a litle modell, and to frame 

True title to succession of your fame : 

In riper yceres he shall your wisedome learne, 

And your vndaunted courage shall discerne ; 

And from your actions, from your words and 

Shall gather rules which others read in bookes : 


So in Achillis 1 more those lessons wrought, 
"Which Peleus show'd then those which Chiron 


j|WEET babe, whose birth inspir'd me with 
a song, 
And call'd my Muse to trace thy dayes 
along ; 
Attending riper yeeres, with hope to finde 
Such braue endeuours of thy noble minde, 
As might deserue triumphant lines, and make 
My fore-head bold a lawrell crowne to take : 
How hast thou left vs, and this earthly stage, 
— JSTot acting many months — in tender age ? 
Thou cam'st into this world a little spie, 
Where all things that could please the eare and 

1 Achilles. G. 

2 The ' first sonne ' of the immediately preceding lines. 
He died March 17th, 1626 -27. G. 


Were set before thee; but thou found'st them 

toyes, 1 
And flew'st with seomefull smiles t' eternall 

ioyes : 
No visage of grim Death is sent t y affright 
Thy spotlesse soule, nor darknesse blinds thy sight: 
But lightsome angels with their golden wings 
Ore-spread thy cradle ; and each spirit brings 
Some precious balme, for heau'nly phisicke meet, 
To make the separation soft and sweet. 
The sparke infus'd by God departs away, 
And bids the earthly, weake, companion stay 
"With patience in that nurs'ry of the ground, 
"Where first the seeds of Adam's limbs were found: 
For Time shall come when these diuided friends 
Shall ioyne againe, and know no seu'rall ends, 3 
But change this short and momentary kisse, 
To strict embraces of celestiall blisse. 

1 Triilos. G. 

2 Lator, gentle Michael Bruce puts another aspect of 
the same sentiment tenderly : 

" A few short years of evil past 

We reach the happy shore, 
Where death-divided friends at last 
Shall meet to part no more." 
See our edition of tho works of Bruco (18G5) p. 137, and 
Memoir pp. 101—104. G. 



F we inlarge our hearts, extend our voyce, 
To shew with what affection we reioyce, 
"WTien friends or kinsmen, wealth and 
honour gaine, 
Or are return' d to freedome from the chaine : 
How shall your seruants and your friends — my 

lord — 
Declare their ioy ? who find no sound, no word 
Sufficient for their thoughts, since you haue got 
That iewell health, which kingdomes equall not : 
From sicknesse freed, a tyrant farre more fell 
Then Turkish pirates, who in gallies dwell. 
The Muses to the friend of musicke bring 
The signes of gladnesse : Orpheus strikes a string 
"Which can inspire the dull, can cheare the sad, 
And to the dead can liuely motion adde : 
Some play, some sing : while I, whose onely skill, 
Is to direct the organ of my quill, 

1 Sir John Villiers, eldest son of Sir George Villiers 
and his second wife, Mary Beaumont: created 19th June, 
1619, Baron Villiers, and Viscount Purbeck, of Purbeck, 
Dorsetshire. He was eldest brother of the Duke of Buck- 
ingham. See Banks' Extinct Baronage (1810), Vol. iii., 
613. G. 


That from my hand it may not ranne in vaine, 
But keepe true time with my commanding braine « 
I will bring forth my Musicke, and will trie 
To rayse these dumbe — yet speaking — letters high, 
Till they contend with sounds : till arm'd with 

My featherd pen surmount Apollo's strings. 
We much reiocye that lightsome calmes ass wage 
The fighting humours, blind with mutuall rage : 
So sing the mariners exempt from feare, 
"When stormes are past, and hopefull signes appeare. 
So chaunts the mounting larke her gladsome lay, 
When night giues place to the delightfull day. 
In this our mirth, the greatest ioy I finde, 
Is to consider how your noble minde 
Will take true vse of those afflictions past, 
And on this ground will fix your vertue fast ; 
And hence haue learn' t th'vncertaine state of man, 
And that no height of glitt'ring honour can 
Secure his quiet : for Almighty God, 
Who rules the high, can with His powr'full rod 
llcprcssc the greatest, and in mercy daignes 
With dang'rous ioyes to mingle wholsome paines : 
Though men in sicknesse draw vnquiet breath, 
And count it worst of euils, next to death: 
Yet such iris goodnesse is, Who gouernee all, 
That from this bitter spring sweete riuers fall : 


Here we are truly taught ourselues to know, 
To pitty others who indure like woe : 
To feele the waight of sinne, the onely cause 
"Whence eu'ry body this corruption clrawes : 
To make our peace with that correcting hand, 
"Which at each moment can our Hues command. 
These are the blest effects, which sicknesse leaues ; 
"When these your serious brest aright conceaues, 
You will no more repent your former paine 
Then we our ioy, to see you well againe. 

lEkgiax ||tafltial$ of Wovtjji^ 


<&k$at Mmoxmlz oi MoxtkizB. 


NYMPH is dead, milde, vertuous, young 

and faire ; 
Death nener counts by dayes, or mon'ths, 
or yeeres : 
Oft in his sight the infant old appeares, 
And to his earthly mansion must repaire. 
"Why should our sighes disturbe the quiet aire ? 
For when the flood of Time to ruine beares, 
No beauty can preuaile, nor parents teares. 
When life is gone, we of the flesh despaire 
Yet still the happy soule immortall Hues 
In heauen, as we with pious hope conceiue ; 
And to the Maker endlesse prayses giues, 
That she so soone this lothsome world might leaue. 
We iudge that glorious spirit doubly blest, 
Which from short life ascends V eternall rest. 





j]AN my poore lines no better office haue, 
But lie like scritch-owles still about the 

When shall I take some pleasure for my paine, 
Commending them that can commend againe ? 
When shall my Muse in loue-sicke lines recite 
Some ladie's worth, which she of whom I write, 
With thankfull smiles may reade in her owne 

dayes ? 
Or when shall I a breathing woman prayse ? 

neuer ! Mine are too ambitious strings, 
They will not sound but of eternall things ; 
Such are freed-soules, but had I thought it fit, 
T'exalt a spirit to a body knit : 

1 would confesse I spent my time amisse, 
When I was slow to giue due praise to this. 
Now when all weepe, it is my time to sing ; 
Thus from her ashes must my poem spring : 
Though in the race I see some swiftly runno, 
I will not crowne them till the goale be won ; 

1 Lucy, daughter to Thomas, Earl of Exeter, grand- 
daughter of William Cecil, Lord Burleigh. Sec Notes 
and Quories 1st. Series, xi. 477. G. 


Till death, ye mortals cannot happy be, 
What can I then hut woe, and dangers see , 
If in yonr liues I write ? now when ye rest, 
I will insert yonr names among the blest : 
And now, perhaps, my verses may increase 
Yonr rising fame, thongh not yonr boundlesse 

peace : 
Which if they euer conld, may they make thine, 
Great lady, further, if not clearer shine : 
I conld thy hnsband's highest styles relate, 
Thy father's earldome, and that England's State 
Was wholly manag'd by thy grandsire's brow : 
But those that loue thee best, will best allow 
That I omit to praise thy match and line, 
And speake of things that were more truely thine : 
Thon thought' st it base to bnild on poore remaines 
Of noble blond, which ranne in others' veines ; 
As many doe, who beare no flowres, nor frnite, 
But shew dead stocks, which hane beene of repute, 
And line by meere remembrance of a sound, 
Which was long since by winds disperst and 

drown' d : 
While that false worth, which they suppose they 

Is digg'd vp new from the corrupting graue : 
For thou hadst liuing honours, not decay' d 
With wearing Time, and needing not the ayd 


Of heraulds ; in the haraest of whose art 
None bnt the vertuous iustly clayme a part : 
Since they our parent's memories renew, 
For imitation, not for idle view ; 
Yet what is all their skill, if we compare 
Their paper works with those which liuely are, 
In such as thou hast been ? whose present lookes, 
If many such were, would suppresse all bookes ; 
For their examples would alone suffice : 
They that the countrey see, the map despise. 
For thee a crowne of vertues we prepare, 
The chief e is wisdome — in thy sex most rare — 
By which thou didst thy husband's state maintaine, 
"Which sure had falne without thee ; and in vaine 
Had aged Paulet, wealth and honours heap'd 
Vpon his house, if strangers had them reapt. 
In vaine to height, by safe still steps he climes, 
And serues fiue princes in most diff'rent times. 
In vaine is he a willow, not an oke, 
"Which winds might easly bend, yet neuer broke 
In vaine he breakes his sleepe, and is diseas'd, 1 
And grieues himself that others may be plcas'd : 
In vaine he striues to beare an cquall hand, 
'Twixt Somerset and bold Northumberland : 
And to his owne close ends directing all, 

1 Dis-oased. Cf. our Pliineas Flotcher, iii, 194. G. 


"Will rise with both, but will with neither fall. 
All this had been in vaine, vnlesse he might 
Haue left his heires cleare knowledge as their 

But this no sonne infallibly can draw 
From his descent, by Nature, or by Law : 
That treasure which the soule with glory decks. 
Bespects not birth-right, nor the nobler sex : 
For women oft haue men's defects suppli'd, 
Whose office is to keepe what men prouide. 
So hast thou done, and made thy name as great, 
As his who first exalted Paulet's seate : 
Neere dew, yet not too neere, the thunders blow, 
Some stood 'twixt Iouc, and him, though most 

G well waigh'd dignity, selected place, 
Prouided for continuance of his race, 
rTot by astrologie, but prudence, farre 
More pow'rfull then the force of any starre ! 
The dukes are gone, and now — though much be- 
neath — 
His coronet is next th' imperiall wreath : 
No richer signe his Howry garland drown' s, 
Which shines alone aboue the lesser crownes. 
This thou inioyd'st, as sicke men tedious houres, 
And thought' st of brighter pearles, and fairer 


And higher crownes, which heau'n for thee 

"When this thy worldy pompe decayes and staraes. 
This sacred feruonr in thy mind did glow : 
And though snpprest with outward state and 

Yet at thy death those hind' ring clouds it clear' d, 
And like the lost sunne to the world appear' d ; 
Euen as a strong fire ynder ashes turn'd, 
Which with more force long secretly hath burn'd, 
Breaks forth to be the obiect of our sight, 
Aimes at the orbe, and ioynes his flame with light. 


j]0 frame a man, who in those gifts excels, 
Which makes the country happy where 
hee dwells, 

We first conceiue, what names his line adorne ; 
It kindles vertue to be nobly borne. 

1 Ho was the eldest son of Henry Skipwith, by Jane, 
his wife, daughter of John Hall of Grantham, Esquire, sur- 
veyor of the works of Calais, and sister to Arthur Hall, an 
early translator of Homer. He married a daughter of Roger 


This picture of true gentry must be grac'd, 

With glitt'ring iewels round about him plac'd ; 

A comely body and a beauteous mind ; 

A heart to loue, a hand to giue inclin'd ; 

A house as free and open as the ayre ; 

A tongue which ioyes in language sweet and faire ; 

Yet can, when need requires, with courage bold, 

To publike eares his neighbour's griefes vnfold. 

All these we neuer more shall find in one, 

And yet all these are clos'd within this stone. 

Cave of Stamford, a relative of Lord Burghley, by whom 
he had a numerous issue, who married prosperously. He 
was one of the three friends to whom John Fletcher dedi- 
cated ' The Faithfull Shepherdess ' : and had himself a 
poetic vein. Several of his poems are printed hy Nichols 
in his Leicestershire, Yol. ii., p. 367, and in the Lansdowne 
MS., No. 207, is a translation by him of the Eighth Satire 
of Juvenal, written at the request of his cousin, Gervas 
Holies. Certain ' Lines ' of his have been mistaken for 
Shakespeare's. He died 3rd May, 1610. See Hunter's 

New Illustrations of Shakespeare, Yol. \ I. 75, 

Vol. II., 336—337, and Dyce's Beaumont and Fletcher, 
Yol. I., xxxiii. et alibi. Sir John Beaumont's Lines are 
said by Nichols to have been " engraven " on Sir William 
Skipwith's tomb (Yol. III., pt. ii., p. 359). G. 



j|N Death, thy murd'rer, this reuenge I take : 
I slight his terror, and iust question 

"Which of vs two the hest precedence haue, 
Mine to this wretched world, thine to the graue : 
Thou shouldst haue followed me, but death to 2 

Miscounted yeeres, and measur'd age by fame. 
So dearely hast thou bought thy precious lines, 
Their praise grew swiftly ; so thy life declines : 
Thy Muse, the hearer's queene, the reader's loue : 
All eares, all hearts — but Death's — could please 
and moue. 

1 The renowned associate of John Fletcher. Probably 
his earliest published verses were the few but weighty 
lines prefixed to his elder brother's ' Metamorphosis 
of Tabacco ' (1602) — given in their place, onward. He 
died in 1616. See our Memorial- Introduction for more. G. 

2 Misprinted l too.' G. 



AN I, who haue for others oft compil'd 
The songs of Death, forget my sweetest 

"Which like a flower cnisht, with a blast is dead, 
And ere full time hangs downe his smiling head, 
Expecting with cleare hope to Hue anew, 
Among the angels fed with heau'nly dew ? 
We haue this signe of ioy, that many dayes, 
"While on the earth his struggling spirit stayes, 
The name of Iesus in his mouth containes, 
His onely food, his sleepe, his ease from paines, 
may that sound be rooted in my mind, 
Of which in him such strong effect I find. 
Deare Lord, receiue my sonne, whose winning 

To me was like a friendship, farre aboue 
The course of nature, or his tender age, 
Whose lookes could all my bitter griefes asswage ; 
Let his pure soule ordain' d seu'n yeeres to be 
In that fraile body, which was part of me, 
Remain my pledge in heau'n, as sent to shew, 
How to this port at eu'ry step I goe. 



ET hini whose lines a priuate losse deplore, 
Call them to weepe, that neuer wept 
before ; 

My griefe is more audacious : giue me one 
Who eu'ry day hath heard a dying grone. 
The subiect of my verses may suffice 
To draw new teares from dry and weary eyes. 
We dare not loue a man, nor pleasure take 
In others' worth for noble Chandos' sake : 
And when we seeke the best with reason's light, 
We feare to wish him longer in our sight. 
Time had increast his vertue and our woe, 
Eor sorrow gathers weight by comming slow : 
Should him the God of life, to life restore 
Againe, we lose him, and lament the more. 
If mortals could a thousand Hues renew, 
They were but shades of death which must insue. 
Our gracious God hath fitter bounds assign' d, 
And earthly paines to one short life confin'd ; 
Yet when His hand hath quencht the vitall flame, 
It lcaues some cinders of immortall fame. 
At these we blow, and — like Prometheus — striue 

1 Gray Bruggus, Lord (Jhandos: died in July, 1621. G. 


By such weake sparkes, to make dead clay alive : 
Breath flyes to ayre, the body falls to ground, 
And nothing dwels with vs but mournfull sound, 
0, might his honor' d name liue in my song, 
Reflected as with ecchoes shrill and strong ! 
But when my lines of glorious obiects treate, 
They should rise high, because the worke is great, 
]STo quill can paint this lord, vnlesse it haue 
Some tincture from his actions free and braue : 
Yet from this height I must descend againe, 
And — like the calme sea — lay my verses plaine, 
When I describe the smoothnesse of his mind, 
Where reason's chaines rebellious passions bind : 
My poem must in harmony excell, 
His sweet behauiour and discourse to tell ; 
It should be deepe and full of many arts, 
To teach his wisdome, and his happy parts. 
But since I want these graces, and despaire 
To make my picture — like the patterne — faire ; 
These hasty strokes, vnperfect draughts shall stand, 
Expecting life from some more skilfull hand. 



^EAD is trie hope of Stafford, in whose line 
So many dukes, and earles, and barons 
shine : 

And from this Edward's death his kin [d] red drawes 
More griefe, then mighty Edward's fall could 

cause : 
Eor to this house his vertue promist more 
Then all those great ones that had gone before. 
No lofty titles can securely frame 
The happinesse and glory of a name : 
Bright honours at the point of noone decay, 
And feele a sad declining like the day. 
But he that from the race of kings is borne, 
And can their mem'ries with his worth adorne, 
Is farre more blest, then those of whom he springs ; 
He from aboue, the soule of goodnesse brings, 
T' inspire the body of his noble birth ; 
This makes it moue, before but liuelesse earth. 
Of such I write, who show'd he would haue been 

1 Of tho house of Buckingham. Seo next Lines. G. 



Complete in action ; but we lost him green e. 

We onely saw him crown' d with flowres of hope : 

that the fruits had giu'n me larger scope ! 

And yet the bloomes which on his herse we strow, 

Surpasse the cherries, and the grapes that grow 

In others' gardens. Here fresh roses lie, 

Whose ruddy blushes modest thoughts descry, 

In flowre-de-luces dide with azure hue, 

His constant loue to heau'nly things we view : 

The spotlesse lillies shew his pure intent, 

The flaming marigold his zeale present, 

The purple violets his noble minde, 

Degen'rate neuer from his princely kind ; 

And last of all the hyacinths we throw, 

In which are writ the letters of our woe. 


S over-rich men find it harder farre 
T' employ what they possess, then poore 
men are : 
Such is the state of those who write of thee ; 

1 This is the father of the youth of the preceding 
Lines. He died in 1625. The present Lines appeared 


"While in that larger field displaid they see 

All objects which may help invention in, 

They know not where to end, where to begin. 

And as into this labyrinth they fall, 

Loath to omit the least praise, lose them all. 

Then whilst some stile thee with the glorious name 

Of lineall heire to mighty Buckingham, 

And tells 1 the greatnesse of thy line, that springs 

From such as could raise up, and throw down 

He not looke back ; but with the Indians runne 
To meete and court thee as my rising sunne. 

originally in a volume now rarely to be met with viz : 
" Honour and Vertue triumphing over the Grave. Exem- 
plified in a faire devout Life and Death, adorned with the 
surviving perfections of Edward, Lord Stafford, lately- 
deceased ; the last Baron of that illustrious Family : 
which honour in him ended with as great lustre as the 

Sunne sets within a serene Skye By Anth : 

Stafford, his most humble Kinsman." (1640 4o) There 
are a great number of Elegies and Verses : and this by 
our Sir John Beaumont is the first. It must have been 
over-looked by his son in preparing the volume of 1629. 
By 1640 the male representatives of the Family were 
extinct. Henry, 5th Lord Stafford, died in 1637, under 
age, leaving Mary, his only sister his heir. Hence 
Anthony Stafford's title-page. G. 
1 Misprinted, tels. G. 


My offrings to thy mem'ry shall be seene, 

In telling what thou wast, or wouJdst haue beene. 

"Why say I wouldst ? when the most jealous eye 

Could find no want, though in thine infancy, 

Which some say promist much ; this I disdaine, 

For where the gifts are, promises are vaine ; 

Since in this noble youth, who did not see 

The old man's wisdome, young man's industrie ? 

An humble maiesty, that could tell how 

To scorne a leagne with pride ; yet make it bow. 

Whose courage was not in extreames like ours, 

With ebs and Howes, causd by the passions' powers : 

But was a constant ever grafted loue 

To blessed goodnesse, and the Powers aboue. 

Who though he joyed in this fraile mortall life, 

As one whose soule had felt no ingor'd strife : 

Nor labour' d with impatient hast like some 

To breake their prison ere the freedome come. 

Yet when the euer seeing Power had found 

So faire a flowre planted in barren ground ; 

Whose glorious beauties which that frame inspir'd 

Were envyed more then followed or admir'd : 

Resolv'd to take what he had onely lent, 

As giving him reward, us punishment ; 

Then death was welcome, and he so resign'd 

— Not feeling griefe to leaue, nor feare to find — 

That such his parting was as might be said 



Whilst he staid here, he liv'd not, but obey'd 
That happy call, which all cleare soules expect, 
"Whose doub trull states are chang'd to be elect. 
Let then such friends as mourne such sad decay 
Of his great house — in him the onely stay — 
Lift up their wondring eyes and for him looke 
In angels' quires, not in a herald's Eooke. 
Yet though the roote be taken hence to plant, 
Where heavenly moisture it can never want ; 
There yet remaines a branch shall ever shine 
Engrafted in the noble Howards line. 


S at a ioyfull marriage, or the birth 

Of some long wished child ; or when the 
Yeelds plenteous fruit, and makes the ploughman 

sing : 
Such is the sound, and subject of my string : 

1 By tho kindness of a collateral descendant of this 
lamented friend of our Poet's — Henry N. Poulton, Esq., 
St. Peter's, Jersey—] have been favoured with an elabor- 
ate pedigree of the Family, shewing marriages and inter- 


Ripe age, full vertue need no fun' rail song, 
Here mournfull tunes would Grace and Nature 

marriages, from John Poulton of Desborough (Richard II. 
to Henry IV.) to Martin Poulton with Giles Poulton, 
youngest son, married to Alice, daughter and co-heir of 
Thomas More, of Bourton, co. Bucks, of the family of Sir 
Thomas More, and onward marriage -relationships to 
the Penns of the illustrious family of the Founder of 
Pensylvania. It were out of place to use these rich and 
laborious genealogical details here. But I note that our 
Ferdinando, Poulton, Esq , of Bourton, co. Bucks, was a 
barrister of Lincoln's Inn, and author of several legal 
works. He is generally described as of Brasenose College, 
Oxford : but this is an error, inasmuch as he completed 
his educational studies at Christ's College, Cambridge — 
though later in life he entered at Oxford, probably because 
of its nearness to Bourton, where he lived. Among the 
Wood MSS. in the Bodleian is the following : 

Densbroug., in Com. N'hapt. In ye chancel of the 
Church there oh a flat stone : 

Hicjacet sepultus Ferdinandus Poulton 
de Borton in parochia et comitatu Buck- 
ingham natus in hac villa vir omni virtutis 
et doctrinarum genere quondam illustrissimus 
necnon sedulus scriptor et propagator legum 
hujus regni. Obiit 20 die. Januarii An. 
dom: 1617 setatis 82. 
Curiously enough, in the Parish Eegister he is stated to 
have been buried 6th January, 1617. For all these data 


Why should vaine sorrow follow him with teares, 
Who shakes off burdens of declining yeeres ? 
Whose thread exceeds the vsuall bounds of life, 
And feeles no stroke of any fatall knife ? 
The Destinies enioyne their wheeles to run, 
Vntill the length of his whole course be spun. 
No enuious cloud obscures his straggling light, 
Which sets contented at the point of night : 
Yet this large time no greater profit brings, 
Then eu'ry little moment whence it springs, 
Vnlesse imploy'd in workes deseruing praise ; 
Most weare out many yeeres, and Hue few dayes. 
Time nowes from instants, and of these each one 
Should be esteem'd, as if it were alone : 
The shortest space, which we so lightly prize 
When it is comming, and before our eyes : 
Let it but slide into th' eternall maine, 
No realmes, no world can purchase it againe : 
Remembrance onely makes the footsteps last, 
When winged Time, which fixt the prints, is past. 
This he well knowing, all occasions tries, 
T' enrich his owne, and others' learned eyes. 
This noble end, not hope of gaine did draw 

I owo thanks to the above Mr. Poulton. They correct 
blunders of Lipscombe's 4 Buckinghamshire ' and of k Col- 
lectanea Topographioa et G-enealogica ' and other works. 


His minde to trauaile in the knotty Law : 
That was to him by serions labour made 
A science, which to many is a trade ; 
Who purchase lands, bnild houses by their tongue, 
And study right, that they may practise wrong. 
His bookes were his rich purchases : his fees 
That praise which Fame to painefull works 1 decrees : 
His mem'ry hath a surer ground then theirs, 
Who trust in stately tombes, or wealthy heires. 


j]ER tongue hath ceast to speake, which 
might make dumbe : 
All tongues might stay, all pens, all 
hands benum : 
Yet I must write : that it might haue beene 

1 Painstaking. G. 

2 Lady Penelope Clifton, was the daughter of Robert 
Rich, earl of Warwick, and wife of Sir Gervase Clifton, 
Bart. The dramatist Francis Beaumont also wrote an 
' Elegy ' on her, and Drayton another. She died 26th of 
Octoher, 1613. Sir Gervase, the " sad husband" had (only) 
six wives after Lady Penelope. G. 


"While she had liu'd, and had my verses seene, 
Eefore sad cries deaf d my vntuned eares, ( 
When verses flow' d more easily then teares. 
Ah why neglected I to write her prayse, 
And paint her vertues in those happy dayes ! 
Then my now trembling hand and dazled eye, 
Had seldome fail'd, haning the patterne by ; 
Or had it err'd, or made some strokes amisse, 
— For who can pourtray Yertue as it is ? — 
Art might with Nature haue maintain' d her strife, 
Ey curious lines to imitate true life. 
Eut now those pictures want their liuely grace, 
As after death none can well draw the face : 
We let our friends passe idly, like our time, 
Till they be gone, and then we see our crime, 
And think what worth in them might haue beene 

What duties done, and what affection showne : 
Vntimely knowledge, which so deare doth cost, 
And then beginnes when the thing knowne is lost ; 
Yet this cold loue, this enuie, this neglect, 
Proclaimes vs modest, while our due respect 
To goodnesse, is restrain' d by seruile feare, 
Lest to the world it flatt'ry should appeare: 
As if the present houres dcseru'd no prayse : 
Eut age is past, whose knowledge onely stayes 
On that weake prop which memory sustaines, 


Should be the proper subiect of our straines : 

Or as if foolish men asham'd to sing 

Of violets and roses in the Spring, 

Should tarry till the flow'rs were blowne away, 

And till the Muses' life and heate decay ; 

Then is the fury slak'd, the vigour fled, 

As here in mine, since it with her was dead : 

"Which still may sparkle, but shall flame no more, 

Because no time shall her to vs restore : 

Yet may these sparks, thus kindled with her fame, 

Shine brighter and liue longer then some flame. 

Here expectation vrgeth me to tell 

Her high perfections, which the world knew well. 

But they are farre beyond my skill t'vnfold : 

They were poore vertues if they might be told. 

But thou, who faine would' st take a gen' rail view 

Of timely fruites which in this garden grew, 

On all the vertues in men's actions looke, 

Or reade their names writ in some moral! booke ; 

And summe the number which thou there shalt 

So many liu'd, and triumph' d in her minde. 
Nor dwelt these Graces in a house obscure, 
But in a palace faire, which might allure 
The wretch who no respect to Yertue bore, 
To loue it for the garments which it wore. 
So that in her the body and the soule 


Contended, which should most adorn the whole. 

happy soule for such a body meete, 

How are the firme chaines of that vnion sweete, 

Disseur'd in the twinkling of an eye ! 

And we amaz'd dare aske no reason why, 

Eut silent think, that God is pleas' d to show, 

That He hath workes whose end we cannot know : 

Let ys then cease to make a vaine request, 

To learn why die the fairest, why the best ; 

For all these things, which mortals hold most 

Most slipp'ry are, and yeeld lesse ioy then feare ; 
And being lifted high by men's desire, 
Are more perspicuous markes for heau'nly fire ; 
And are laid prostrate with the first assault, 
Eecause, our loue makes their desert their fault. 
Thou Iustice, vs to some amends should mooue 
For this our fruitlesse, nay our hurtfull loue ; 
We in their honour, piles of stone erect 
"With their deare names, and worthy prayses deckt : 
Eut since those faile, their glories we rehearse, 
In better marble, euerlasting verse : 
Ey which we'gather from consuming houres, 
Some parts of them, though Time the rest 

deuoures ; 
Then if the Muses can forbid to die, 
As we their priests suppose, why may not I ? 


Although the least and hoarsest in the quire, 

Cleare beames of blessed immortality inspire 

To keepe thy blest remembrance euer young, 

Still to be freshly in all ages sung : 

Or if my worke in this vnable be, 

Yet shall it euer liue, vpheld by thee : 

For thou shalt liue, though poems should decay, 

Since parents teach their sonnes, thy prayse to say ; 

And to posterity from hand to hand 

Conuay it with their blessing and their land. 

Thy quiet rest from death, this good deriues 

In stead of one, it giues thee many Hues : 

While these lines last, thy shadow dwelleth here, 

Thy fame, it selfe extendeth eu'rywhere ; 

In Heau'n our hopes haue plac'd thy better part : 

Thine image liues, in thy sad husband's heart : 

"Who as when he enioy'd thee, he was chief e 

In loue and comfort, so is he now in griefe. 


AMPTON, 1624. 1 

HEN now the life of great Southampton 
His fainting sernants, and astonisht 
Stand like so many weeping marble stones, 
No passage left to vtter sighes, or grones : 
And must I first dissolue the bonds of griefe, 
And straine forth words, to giue the rest reliefe ? 
I will be bold my trembling voyce to trie, 
That his deare name may not in silence die. 
The world must pardon if my song bee weake, 

1 Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton and 
Baron of Tichfield : born 6th Oct. 1573, succeeded his 
father, the second Earl, in 1581. In 1585 he became a 
Student of St. John's College, Cambridge, and in four 
years passed M.A. He married Elizabeth, daughter of 
John Vernon, Esq. He died 10th November, 1624, leav- 
ing two sons and three daughters, the second of the five 
being the celebrated Thomas, earl of Southampton, and 
Lord High Treasurer, and — supremest honour — father of 
Lady Rachel Russell. See Bell's annotated edition of 
Shakespeare's ' Poems ' (1855, pp. 36-37 — this reference 
recalling the enigmatical dedication of 'Venus and 
Adonis ' and ' Rape of Luorece.' G. 


In such a case it is enough to speake : 
My verses are not for the present age : 
For what man liues or breathes on England's stage, 
That knew not braue Southampton, in whose sight 
Most plac'd their day, and in his absence night ? 
I striue, that vnborne children may conceiue, 
Of what a iewell angry Fates bereaue 
This mournefull kingdome, and when heauy woes 
Oppresse their hearts, thinke our's as great as those : 
In what estate shall I him first expresse, 
In youth, or age, in ioy, or in distresse ? 
When he was young, no ornament of youth 
"Was wanting in him, acting that in truth 
Which Cyrus did in shadow, and to men 
Appealed like Peleus' sonne, from Chiron's den : 
While through this iland Fame his praise reports, 
As best in martiall deedes, and courtly sports : 
When riper age with winged feete repaires, 
Grraue care adornes his head with siluer haires \ 
His valiant feruour was not then decaide, 
But ioyn'd with counsell, as a further aide. 
Behold his constant and vndaunted eye, 
In greatest danger ; when condemn' d to dye, 
He scornes th' insulting aduersarie's breath, 
And will admit no feare, though neere to Death : 
But when our gracious soueraigne had regain' d 
This light, with clouds obscur'd, in walls detain' d : 


And by his fauour plac'd this starre on high, 

Fixt in the garter, England's azure skie ; 

He pride — which dimms such change — as much 

did hate, 
As base dejection in his former state : 
When he was calTd to sit, by Ioue's command, 
Among the demigods, that rule this Land, 
JNo pow'r, no strong perswasion could him draw 
Prom that which he concern' d as right and law. 
When shall we in this realme a father finde 
So truly sweet, or husband halfe so kinde ? 
Thus he enioyde the best contents of life, 
Obedient children, and a louing wife. 
These were his parts in Peace ; but how farre 
This noble soule excelTd it selfe in Warre : 
He was directed by a nat'rall vaine, 1 
True honour by this painefull 2 way to gaine. 
Let Ireland witnesse, where he first appeares, 
And to the sight his warlike ensignes beares. 
And thou Belgia, wert in hope to see 
The trophees of his conquests wrought in thee, 
But Death, who durst not meet him in the field, 
In priuate by close trech'ry made him yeeld. 
I keepe that glory last, which is the best ; 
The loue of learning, which he oft exprest 

1 Vein. G. 2 Painstaking. G. 


By conuersation, and respect to those 

Who had a name in artes, in verse or prose : 

Shall euer I forget with what delight. 

He on my simple lines would cast his sight ? 

His onely mem'ry my poore worke adomes, 

He is a father to my crowne of thornes : 

Now since his death how can I euer looke, 

"Without some teares, vpon that orphan booke ? 

Te sacred Muses, if ye will admit 

My name into the roll, which ye haue writ 

Of all your seruants, to my thoughts display 

Some rich conceipt, some vnfrequented way, 

Which may hereafter to the world commend 

A picture fit for this my noble friend : 

Eor this is nothing, all these rimes I scorne ; 

Let pens be broken, and the paper torne : 

And with his last breath let my musick cease, 

Vnlesse my lowly poem could increase 

In true description of immortall things, 

And rays' d aboue the earth with nimble wings, 

Ply like an eagle from his fun' rail fire, 

Admir'd by all, as all did him admire. 



ERE lies a souldier, who in youth desir'd 
His valiant father's noble steps to tread 
And. swiftly from his friends and Countrey 
While to the height of glory he aspir'd. 

The cruell Fates with bitter enuy fiYd, 

To see Warre's prudence in so young a head, 
Sent from their dusky caues to strike him dead, 

A strong disease in peacefull robes attir'd. 

This Murd'rer kills him with a silent dart, 
And hauing drawne it bloody from the sonne, 

Throwes it againe into the father's heart, 
And to his lady boasts what he hath done. 

"What helpe can men against pale Death prouide, 
When twice within few dayes Southampton dide ? 

1 James, lord Wriothesley, eldest son of the earl of 
Southampton, died in the Netherlands a few days before 
his father. G. 



j]NOTHEE noble gone ! what art thou 
That puts a stoppe to eache heroic breath ? 
Art thou an enemie to all that's great? 
Doe godlike actions still provoke thy hate ? 
Must the best blood then of the sister Land 
Still feel the uengeance of thy tyrant hand ? 
I bid thee stoppe in this thy bold careere, 
We haue a soueraigne of that Land now here ; 
"Who reigns so noble in his People's loue, 
He still mTst waite before he goes aboue. 
A loyal subiect bids you to forbear, 
Go where you will or chuse, you come not there. 
I'll say no more, it goes to eu'ry heart 
When even kings are forc'd from friends to part. 

1 James, second Marquis of Hamilton, was born in 
1589 ; succeeded his father 1604, and was created a peer of 
England by the titles of Baron of Ennerdale in Cumber- 
land and Earl of Cambridge, by patent dated 16th June, 
1619. He died at Whitehall 2nd March, 1624-25 in the 
36th year of his age. G. 



j]0 their long home the greatest Princes goe 
In hearses drest with faire escutcheons 

The hlazonnes of an antient race, renown' d 
For deeds of valour ; and in costly show 
The traine moves forward in procession slowe 
Towards some hallow' d Fane ; no common 

But the archd uavlt and tombe with scvlpture 
Receive the corse, with honours laid belowe. 
Alas! whate'er their weal the, their witt, their 

Such is the end of all the sonnes of Earthe. 1 

1 The preceding and present piece are what occupy 
pp. 181 — 182 (i. e. the cancelled leaf) in the Grenville 
copy in the British Museum. I give them here, but there 
is a difficulty in accepting them as what was really sup- 
pressed. See our Memorial- Introduction for details. G. 



jYTHEB the goddesse drawes her troupe 
of loues 
From Paphos, where she erst was held 
And doth vnyoke her tender-necked doues, 
Placing her seat in this small papry shrine ; 
Or the sweet Graces through the Idalian groue, 
Led the blest Author in their daunced rings ; 
Or wanton JNymphs in watry bowres haue woue, 
"With fine Ifylesian threds, the verse he sings ; 
Or curious Pallas once againe doth striue, 
With proud Arachne for illustrious glory, 
And once againe doth loues of gods reuiue, 
Spinning in silken twists a lasting story : 
If none of these, then Venus chose his sight, 
To leade the steps of her blind sonne aright. 

I. E. 

1 From " Salmacis and Hermaphroditvs " (1602). See 
our Memorial-Introduction on the authorship of this 
volume, and our edition of Joseph Fletcher's Poems, 
pp. 230 G. 



j|EOM Newport's bloudy battell — sung by 

thee — 
With Yaxley's death — the flow'r of 

Chivalry — 
And from thy well-pen' d Publican, to bee 
Transported thus to fields of Arcady, 
Shewes that thy Muse is apt for all assayes, 
And thou a man that meriteth renowne. 
Divine, poeticall, and past' rail layes, 
Do all concurre thy browes with bayes to crowne 
Collins, live ever, in thy lines live ever, 
Live ever honord by the trumpe of Eame : 
And let all those that in those Arts endeavour, 
In their praise-worthy works, still praise thy name : 
Who — on all subjects — doth so sweetly sing, 
Envie her selfe to touch thee hath no sting. 

Io. B. 

1 From " The Teares of Love : or Cupid's Progress. 
Together with the Complaint of the sorrowfull Shep- 
hcrdesse, fayre (but unfortunate) Candida, deploring the 
death of her deare-lov'd Coravin, a late living (and an 
ever to be lamented) Shepheard. For a (passionate) pas- 
torall Elegie. Composed by Thomas Collins, &c. (1615 
4o)." Collins was author of ' The Penitent Publican \ &c» 



HAT shal I first commend ? your nappy 
Of this most vsefull poet ? or your skill, 
To make the eccho equall with the voice, 
And trace the lines drawne by the Author's quill ? 
The Latine writers by vnlearned hands, 
In forraine robes vnwillingly are drest, 
But thus inuited into other Lands, 
Are glad to change their tongue at such request. 
The good, which in our minds their labours breed, 
Layes open to their Fame a larger way. 
These strangers England with rich plentie feed, 
Which with our Countrey's freedome we repay : 
"When sitting in a pure language like a throne, 
They proue as great with vs, as with their owne. 

(1610 4o) — as alluded to by our Poet. I owe thanks to S. 
Christie Miller, Esq., of Britwell, for transcript of above. G. 
1 From " Odes of Horace, the best of Lyrick Poets : 
Contayning much morallity and swetnesse. Selected and 
Translated by Sr. T[homas] H[awkins], 1625. Imprinted 
at London by A: M: for Will: Lee, and are to be sold at his 
ahoppe in Fleet : street, at the signe of the Golden Bucke" 
(p. 5th from title-page): Above is usually ascribed — 
even in Wood's Athense by Dr. Bliss, as before — 
to the son of our Sir John Beaumont. The mistake 
originated from the rare first edition, supra, not having 
been known. G, 





N all the countries, which from Gades ex- 
To Ganges, where the Morning's beames 
Few men the clouds of errour can remooue, 
And know what ill V auoide, what good to loue : 
For what doe we by reason seeke or leaue, 
Or what canst thou so happily conceiue, 
But straight thou wilt thine enterprise repent, 
And blame thy wish, when thou behold' st th' 

euent ? 
The easie gods cause houses to decay, 
By granting that for which the owners pray ; 
In Peace or Warre we aske for hurtfull things, 
The copious flood of speech to many brings 
Vntimely death ; another rashly dyes, 
While he vpon his wondrous strength relyes : 
But most by heapes of money choked are, 
Which they haue gather' d with too earnest care, 


Till others they in wealth as much excell, 
As British whales aboue the dolphins swell : 
In bloody times by Neroe's fierce commands. 
The armed troope about Longinus stands ; 
Rich Senecae's large gardens circling round, 
And Lateranus' palace much renown'd. 
The greedy tyrant's souldier seldome comes, 
To ransack beggers in the vpper roomes. 
If siluer vessels, though but few thou bear'st, 
Thou in the night the sword and trunchion fear'st ; 
And at the shadow of each reed wilt quake, 
When by the moone light thou perceiu'st it shake : 
But he that trauailes empty, feeles no grief e, 
And boldly sings in presence of the thiefe : 
The first desires, and those which best we know 
In all our temples, are that wealth may grow, 
That riches may increase, and that our chest 
In publike banke may farre exceed the rest. 
But men in earthen vessels neuer drinke 
Dyre poysons : then thy selfe in danger thinke, 
When cups beset with pearles thy hand doth hold, 
And precious wine burnes bright in ample gold : 
Do'st thou not now perceiuc sufficient cause, 
To giue those two wise men deseru'd applause, 
Who when abroad they from their thresholds stept, 
The one did alwaies laugh, the other wept ? 
But all are apt to laugh in euery place, 


And censvre actions with a wrinkled face ; 

It is more maniell how the other's eyes 

Could moysture find his weeping to suffice. 

Deinocritus did euer shake his spleen 

"With laughter's force : yet had there neuer been 

Within his natiue soyle such garments braue, 

And such vaine signes of honour as we haue. 

What if he saw the pretor standing out 

From lofty chariots in the thronging rout, 

Clad in a coate with noble palme-trees wrought, 

A signe of triumph, from Ioue's temple brought, 

And deckt with an imbrodred purple gowne, 

Like hangings from his shoulders trailing downe : 

No necke can lift the crowne which then he weares, 

For it a publike seruant sweating beares : 

And lest the consul should exceed in pride, 

A slaue with him in the same coach doth ride. 

The bird which on the iu'ry scepter stands, 

The cornets, and the long officious bands 

Of those that walk before to grace the sight, 

The troope of seruile Romans cloth' d in white, 

"Which all the way ypon thy horse attends, 

Who[m] thy goodcheare and purse haue made thy 

friends ■ 
To him each thing he meets occasion mooues 
Of earnest laughter, and his wisdome prooues, 
That worthy men, who great examples giue, 


In barb'rous countries and thicke ay re may Hue : 
He laught at common people's cares and feares, 
Oft at their ioyes, and sometimes at their teares ; 
He in contempt to threatning Fortune throwes 
A halter, and his scornefull finger showes. 

We rub the knees of gods with waxe, to gaine 
From them such things as hurtfull are, or vaine ; 
Pow'r subiect to fierce spite, casts many downe, 
"Whom their large stiles, and famous titles drowne. 
The statues fall, and through the streets are roll'd : 
The wheeles, which did the chariot's weight vp- 

Are knockt in pieces with the hatchet's stroke ; 
The harmelesse horses legs are also broke : 
The fires make hissing sovnds, the bellowes blow, 
That head dissolu'd, must in the furnace glow, 
Which all with honours like the gods did grace. 
The great Seianus crackes, and of that face, 
Which once the second in the world was nam'd, 
Are basons, frying-pans, and dishes fram'd : 
Place bayes at home, to Ioue's chiefe temple walke, 
And leade with thee a great oxe, white as chalke. 
Behold Seianus drawne vpon a hooke, 
All men reioyce, what lips had he, what looke ? 
Trust me — saith one — I neuer could abide 
This fellow ; yet none askes for what he dy'd : 
None knowes who was the man that him accus'd ; 


What proof es were brought, what testimony vs'd ; 

A large epistle fraught with words' great store, 

From Capreae comes : 'tis well, I seeke no more, 

The wau'ring people follow Fortune still, 

And hate those whom the State intends to kilL 

Had Nurtia fauor'd this her Tuscan child, 

Had he the aged carelesse prince beguild ; 

The same base tongues would in that very houre 

Haue rays' d Seianus to Augustus pow'r. 

It is long since that we forbidden are, 

To sell our voyces free from publike care : 

The people which gaue pow'r in Warre and Peace, 

Now from those troubles is content to cease, 

And eu'ry wish for these two ends bestowes, 

For bread in plenty, and Circensian showes. 

I heare that many are condemn' d to dye ; 

No doubt the flame is great, and swelleth high. 

Erutidius looking pale, did meet me neere 

To Mars, his altar, therefore much I feare, 

Lest vanquisht Aiax find out some pretence, 

To punish those that faild in his defence : 

Let vs run headlong, trampling Cesar's foe, 

While on the banke he lies, our fury show : 

Let all our seruants see, and witnesse beare, 

How forward we against the traytors were, 

Lest any should deny, and to the law, 

His fearefull master by the necke should draw. 


These were the speeches of Seianus then, 

The secret murnmres of the basest men. 

Would' st thou be flatter' d and ador'd by such 

As bow'd to him ? Would' st thou possesse as much ? 

"Would' st thou giue ciuill dignities to these? 

Would' st thou appoint the[m] gen'rals who thee 

please ? 
Be tutor to the prince, who on the rock 
Of Caprese sits with his Chaldean flock : 
Thou surely seek'st it as a great reward, 
T' enioy high places in the field or guard. 
This thou defend' st, for those that haue no will, 
To make men die, would haue the power to kill : 
Yet what such fame or fortune can be found, 
But still the woes aboue the ioyes abound ? 
Had'st thou then rather chuse the rich attire 
Of this great lord, now drawne through common 

Or beare some office in the wretched State 
Of Gabij and Fidense, and relate 
The lawes of measures in a ragged gowne, 
And breake small vessels in an empty towne ; 
By this time I perceiue thou hast confest, 
That proud Seianus could not wish the best : 
He that for too much wealth and honour cares, 
The heaped lofts of raysed towres prepares, 
Whence from the top his fall declines more steepe, 


And headlong mine drawes him to the deepe. 
This done, rich Crassns and the Pompeys threw, 
And him who[m] Eomane freedome conld subdue, 
Because to height by cunning they aspire, 
And enuious gods giue way to their desire. 
Few tyrants can to Pluto's Court descend, 
Without fierce slaughter and a bloody end. 

Demosthenes and Tullie's fame and speech, 
Each one that studies Bhet'rike, will beseech 
At Pallas hands, and during all the dayes 
Of her Quinquatria for this only prayes, 
Though worshipping her picture basely wrought, 
Such as with brazen money he hath bought, 
"While in a little chest his papers lie, 
Which one poore seruant carries waiting nigh : 
Yet both these orators whom he admires, 
Dy'd for that eloquence which he desires : 
What did them both to sad destruction bring, 
But wit which flow'd from an abundant spring ? 
The wit of Tully caus'd his head and hand 
To be cut off, and in the Court to stand. 
The pulpits 1 are not moistned with the flood 
Of any meane vnlearned pleader's blood. 
When Tully wrote ; Eome most blest by fate, 
New-borne when I enioy'd the Consul's state : 

1 See foot-note onward. G. 


If he his prose had like his verses shap'd, 
He Antonie's sharpe swords might haue escap'd. 
Let critikes here their sharpe derision spend, 
Yet those harsh poems rather I commend, 
Then thee, diuine Philippicke, which in place 
Art next the first, hut hast the highest grace : 
He also with a cruell death expir'd, 
Whose flowing torrent Athens so admir'd, 
Who rul'd th' vnconstant people when he list, 
As if he held their hridles in his fist. 
Ah wretched man, begotten with the hate 
Of all the gods, and by sinister Fate, 
"Whom his poore father, bleare-ey'd with the soote 
Of sparkes which from the burning ir'n did shoote, 
From coales, tongs, anuile, and the cutler's tooles, 
And durty forge, sent to the Khet'ricke Schooles. 
The spoyles of Warre, some rusty corslet plac'd 
Of maymed trophees, cheekes of helmes defac'd ; 
Defectiue chariots, conquer' d nauies decks, 
And captiues, who themselues with sorrow vexe ; 
— Their faces on triumphant arches wrought — 
Are things aboue the bliss of mortall thought : 
For these incitements to this fruitlesse end, 
The Eomane, Greeke, and barbr'ous captaines tend. 
This caus'd their danger and their willing paine, 
So much their thirst is greater for the gaine 
Of fame then vertue : for what man regards 


Bare vertue, if we take away rewards ? 

In ages past the glory of a few, 

Their Countrey rashly to destruction drew, 

Desiring prayse and titles full of pride, 

Inscrib'd on graue-stones which their ashes hide, 

Which perish by the sauage fig-tree's strength : 

For tombes themselues must haue their fate at 

Let Annibal be ponder' d in thy mind ; 
In him thou shalt that waight and value find, 
"Which fits a great commander. This is he, 
Whose spirit could not comprehended be 
In Africk, reaching from th' Atlantick streames, 
To Mlus heated with the sunny beames ; 
And southward stretcht as farre as Ethiope feeds 
Huge elephants, like those which India breeds : 
He conquers Spaine, which cannot him inclose 
With Pyrenaean hills, the Alpes and snowes, 
Which Nature armes against him, he derides, 
And rockes made soft with vinegar diuides. 
He Italy attaines, yet striues to runne 
On further : Nothing yet saith he, is done, 
Till Punicke souldiers shall Rome's gates deface, 
And in her noblest streets mine ensignes place. 
How would this one-ey'd generale appeare 
With that Gentulian beast which did him beare, 
If they were set in picture ? What became 


Of all his bold attempts ? deare-bought fame, 
He vanquisht, into exile head-long flies, 
Where — all men wondring — he in humble wise, 
Must at the palace doore attendance make, 
Till the Bythinian tyrant please to wake. 
No warlike weapons end that restlesse life, 
Which in the world caus'd such confused strife. 
His king reuengeth all the Romans dead 
At Cannse, and the blood which he had shed. 
Foole, passe the sharpe Alpes, that thy gloried 

May schoole-boyes please, and be their publike 

One world contents not Alexander's mind, 
He thinkes himself e in narrow bounds confin'd : 
It seemes as strait as any little ile, 
Or desart rocke to him, whom lawes exile : 
But when he comes into the towne, whose walls 
Were made of clay, his whole ambition falls 
Into a graue : death onely can declare 
How base the bodies of all mortals are. 
The lying Greekes perswade vs not to doubt, 
That Persian nauics sailed round about 
The mountaine Athos, seuer'd from the maine : 
Such stuff e their fabulous reports containe : 
They tell vs what a passage framed was 
Of ships, that wheeles on solid sens might passe : 


That deepest riuers sailed we must thinke, 
Whose floods the Medians at one meale could drink : 
And must beleeue such other wond'rous things, 
Which Sostratus relates with moyst'ned wings. 
But that great king of whom these tales they 

Tell me how backe from Salamis he came : 
That barb'rous prince who vs'd to whip the winds, 
Not suff 'ring strokes when Aeolus them binds, 
He who proud Neptune in his fetters chain' d, 
And thought his rage by mildnesse much restrain' d, 
Because he did not brand him for his slaue ; 
Which of the gods would such a master haue ? 
But how return' d he with one slender bote, 
Which through the bloody waues did slowly flote, 
Oft stay'd with heapes of carkases : these paines 
He as the fruits of long-wisht glory gaines. 

Gtiue length of life, Ioue, giue many yeeres, 
Thou prayst with vpright count' nance, pale with 

Not to be heard ; yet long old age complaines 
Of great continuall griefes which it containes : 
As first a foule and a deformed face 
Vnlike it selfe, a rugged hide in place 
Of softer skin, loose cheekes, and wrinkles made, 
As large as those which in the wooddy shade 
Of spacious Tabraca, the mother ape 


Deepe furrow'd in her aged chaps doth scrape. 

Great difference is in persons that be young, 

Some are more beautifull, and some more strong 

Then others : but in each old man we see 

The same aspect ; his trembling limbes agree 

"With shaking voyce, and thou may'st adde to those 

A bald head, and a childish dropping nose. 

The wretched man when to this state he comes, 

Must breake his hard bread with vnarmed gummes 

So lothsome, that his children and his wife 

Grow weary of him, he of his owne life ; 

And Cossus hardly can his fight sustaine, 

Though wont to flatter dying men for gaine. 

Now his benummed palate cannot taste 

His meate or drinke ; the pleasures now are past 

Of sensual! lust ; yet he in buried fires 

Eetaines vnable and vnfit desires. 

"What ioy can musicke to his hearing bring, 

Though best musicians, yea, Seleucus sing, 

Who purchase golden raiments by their voyce : 

In theaters he needs not make his choice 

Of place to sit, since that his deaf 'ned eare 

Can scarce the cornets and the trumpets heare : 

His boy must cry aloud to let him know 

Who comes to see him, how the time doth goo : 

A feuer onely heates his wasted blood 

In eu'ry part assaulted with a flood 


Of all diseases : if their names thou aske, 

Thou mayst as well appoint me for a taske, 

To tell what close adulterers Hippia loues ; 

How many sick-men Themison remoues 

Out of this world within one Autumne's date : 

How many poore confederates of our State, 

Haue been by griping Easilus distrest ; 

How many orphanes Irus hath opprest ; 

To what possessions he is now preferr'd, 

"Who in my youth scorn' d not to cut my beard : 

Some feeble are in shoulders, loynes, or thighes, 

Another is depriu'd of both his eyes, 

And enuies those as happy that haue one. 

This man too weake to take his meate alone, 

"With his pale lips must feede at others' hands, 

While he according to his custome stands 

With gaping iawes like to the swallowe's brood, 

To whom their hungry mother carries food 

In her full mouth : yet worse in him we find 

Then these defects in limbes, a doting mind ; 

He cannot his owne seruants names recite, 

Nor know his friend with whom he supt last night ; 

Not those he got and bred : with cruell spots 

Out of his Will his doubtlesse heires he blots, 

And all his goods to Phiale bequeathes : 

So sweet to him a common strumpet breathes. 

But if his senses should not thus be spent, 


His children's fun' rails he must oft lament. 
He his dear wiue's and brother's death bemones, 
And sees the vrnes full of his sister's bones. 
Those that Hue long endure this lingring paine, 
That oft they find new causes to complaine, 
"While they mishaps in their own house behold, 
In woes and mournefull garments growing old. 
The Pylian king, as Homer's verses show, 
In length of life came nearest to the crow : 
Thou think' st him blest whom death so long for- 

"Who on his right hand now accounts his yeeres 
By hundreds with an ancient num'rall signe, 
And hath the fortune oft to drinke new wine. ' 
Eut now obserue how much he blames the law 
Of Fates, because too large a thread they draw : 
When to Antilochus' last rites he came, 
And saw his beard blaze in the fun'rall flame, 
Then with demands to those that present are, 
He thus his gre'uous mis'ry doth declare : 
"Why should I last thus long, what hainous crime 
Hath made me worthy of such spatious time ? 
Like voyces Peleus vs'd, when he bewail'd 
Achilles, whom vntimely death assail' d : 
And sad Laertes, who had cause to weepe 
For his Vlisses swimming on the dcepe. 
When Troy wm safe, then Priam might hauc gone 


With stately exequies 1 and solemne mone, 

T' accompany Assaracus, his ghost, 

His fun'rall herse, enricht with princely cost, 

Which Hector with his other brothers beares, 

Amidst the flood of Ilian women's teares. 

When first Cassandra practis'd to lament, 

And faire Polyxena with garments rent : 

If he had dy'd ere Paris plac'd his sayles 

In ventrous ships ; see what long age auailes : 

This caus'd him to behold his ruin'd towne, 

The swords and flers which conquer' d Asia drowne; 

Then he, a trembling souldier, off doth cast 

His diademe, takes armour ; but at last 

Palls at loue's altar, like an oxe decai'd ; 

Whose pittifull thinne necke is prostrate laid 

To his hard master's knife, disdained now, 

Because not fit to draw th' vngratefull plow : 

Yet dy'd he humane death ; but his curst wife 

Bark't like a dog, remaining still in life. 

To our examples willingly I haste, 

And therefore Mithridates haue orepast ; 

And Croesus whom iust Solon bids t' attend, 

And not to iudge men happy till the end. 

This is the cause that banisht Marius flies, 

That he imprison' d is, and that he lies 

1 Obsequies = Funeral rites. G. 


In close Minturnse's fennes to hide his head, 
And neere to conquer' d Carthage begs his bread. 
Wise nature had not fram'd, nor Rome brought 

A citizen more noble for his worth ; 
If liauing to the view his captiues led, 
And all his warlike pompe, in glory spred ; 
Then his triumphant soule lie forth had sent, 
"When from his Cimbrian chariot downe he went. 
Campania did for Pompeye's good prouide 
Strong feuers, which. — if lie had then espy'd 
What would ensue — were much to be desir'd. 
But many cities publike vowes conspir'd, 
And this so happy sicknesse could deface, 
Eeseruing him to dye with more disgrace : 
Rome's and his fortune onely sau'd his head, 
To be cut off when ouercom'n he fled. 
This paine the traytor Lentulus doth scape : 
Cethegus not disfigur'd in his shape, 
Enioying all his limbes vnmaimed lyes, 
And Catiline with his whole carkase dyes. 

The carefull mother, when she casts her eyes 
On Venus' temple in soft lowly wise, 
Demands the gift of beauty for her boyes, 
But askes it for her girles with greater noyse ; 
At common formes her wish she neuer staies, 
But for the height of delicacy prayes. 


And why should' st thou reprooue this prudent 

Latona in fair Phcebe doth reioyce. 
but Lucretia's haplesse fate deterres, 
That others wish not such a face as her's : 
Virginia her sweet feature would forsake, 
And Butilae's crook' d backe would gladly take. 
"Where sonnes are beautiful!, the parents' vext 
"With care and feare, are wretched and perplext.. 
So seldome an exact consent betweene 
Well-fauour'd shapes and chastity is seene. 
For should they be with holy manners taught 
In homely houses, such as Sabines wrought : 
Should bounteous Nature's lib'rall hand bestow 
Chast dispositions, modest lookes, which glow 
With sanguine blushes — what more happy thing 
To boyes can fauourable Mature bring ? 
Whose inclinations farre more pow'rfull are, 
Then many keepers and continuall care : — 
Yet they are neuer suffer d to possesse 
The name of man ; such foule corrupters presse,. 
And by the force of large expences trust, 
To make their parents instruments of lust. 
No tyrant in his cruell palace gelt 
Deformed youths ; no noble child had felt 
Fierce Neroe's rapes, if all wry-leg' d had beene 
If in their necks foule swellings had been seene ; 


If windy tumours had their bellies rays'd ; 

Or camels' bunches had their backs disprais'd : 

Goe now with ioy thy young-man's forme affect, 

Whom greater dangers and worse fates expect ; 

Perhaps he shortly will the title beare 

Of a profest adulterer, and will feare 

To suffer iustly for his wicked fact, 1 

Such paines as angry husbands shall exact : 

Nor can he happier be then Mars, his starre, 

T' escape those snares which caught the god of 


Yet oft that grief e to sharper vengeance drawes, 
Then is permitted by th' indulgent lawes ; 
Some kill with swords, others with scourges cut, 
And some th' offenders to foule torments put. 
But thine Endymion happily will proue 
Some matron's minion, who may merit loue ; 
Yet when Seruilia him with money hires, 
He must be her's against his owne desires : 
Her richest ornaments she off will take, 
And strip her selfe of iewels for his sake. 
"What will not Hippia and Catulla giue 
To those, that with them in adult' ry Hue : 
For wicked women in these base respects 
Place all their manners, and their whole affects. 

1 Act or deed, as before G. 



But thou wilt say, can beauty hurt the chaste ? 
Tell me what ioy Hippolitus did taste, 
What good seuere Bellerophon receiu'd, 
When to their pure intents they strictly cleau'd ? 
Both Sthenobsea and the Cretan queene, 
Asham'd of their repulse, stirr'd yp their teene : l 
For then a woman breeds most fierce debate, 
When shame adds piercing stings to cruell hate. 
How would'st thou counsell him, whom th' emp'ror's 

Eesolues to marry in her husband's life : 
The best and fairest of the lords must dye ; 
His life is quenchtby Messallinae's eye : 
She in her nuptiall robes doth him expect, 
And openly hath in her gardens deckt 
A purple marriage bed, nor will refuse 
To giue a dowre, and ancient rites to vse. 
The cunning wizzard who must tell the doome 
Of his successe, with notaries must come : 
Thou think' st these things are hid from publike 

And but committed to the trust of few. 
Kay, she will haue her solemne wedding, drest 
With shew of law : then teach him what is best, 
He dies ere night vnlesse he will obay : 

1 Vengeance. Cf, Our Joseph Fletcher, page 11. G. 

230 TEAtfSLATIOtfS. 

Admit the crime, he gaines a little stay, 

Till that which now the common people heares, 

May come by rumour to the prince's eares : 

For he is sure to be the last that knowes 

The secret shame which in his household growes : 

Thy selfe awhile to her desires apply, 

And life for some few days so dearely buy. 

"What way soeuer he as best shall chuse, 

That faire white necke he by the sword must luse. 

Shall men wish nothing ? wilt thou counsell take? 
Permit the heau'nly powers the choyce to make, 
What shall be most conuenient for our fates, 
Or bring most profit to our doubtfull states : 
The prudent gods can place their gifts aright, 
And grant true goods in stead of yaine delight. 
A man is neuer to himselfe so deare, 
As vnto them when they his fortunes steare : 
We carried with the fury of our minds, 
And strong affection which our iudgement blinds, 
Would husbands proue, and fathers, but they see 
What our wisht children and our wiues will bee : 
Yet that I may to thee some pray'rs allow, 
When to the sacred temples thou do'st vow 
Diuincst cntrailcs in white pockets found, 
Pray for a sound mind in a body sound ; 
Desire brauc spirit, free from feare of death, 
Which can esteeme the latest houre of breath, 


Among the gifts of Mature which canbeare 

All sorrowes from desire and anger cleare, 

And thinkes the paines of Hercules more blest, 

Then wanton lust, the suppers and soft rest, 

"Wherein Sardanapalus ioy'd to Hue. 

1 show thee what thou to thy selfe mayst giue ; 

If thou the way to quiet life wilt treade, 

2so guide but Vertue can thee thither leade : 

Ko pow'r diuine is euer absent there, 

"Where wisdome dwells, and equall rule doth beare. 

But we, Fortune, striue to make thee great, 

Plac'd as a goddesse in a heau'nly seate. 


GOD, the soules pure fi'ry spring. 
Who diff'rent natures wouldst combine : 
That man whom thou to life didst bring, 

By weaknesse may to death decline, 

By Thee they both are fram'd aright, 

They by Thy hand vnited be ; 

And while they ioyne with growing might, 

Both flesh and spirit Hue to Thee : 

But when disunion them recals. 

They bend their course to seu'rall ends, 


Into dry earth the body falls, 

The feruent soule to heau'n ascends : 

Eor all created things at length, 

Ey slow corruption growing old, 

Must needs forsake compacted strength, 

And disagreeing webs vnfold. 

But thou, deare Lord, hast meanes prepar'd, 

That death in Thine may neuer reigne, 

And hast vndoubted waies declar'd, 

How members lost may rise againe : 

That while those gen'rous rayes are bound 

In prison ynder fading things ; 

That part may still be stronger found, 

Which from aboue directly springs. 

If man with baser thoughts possest, 

His will in earthly mud shall drowne ; 

The soules with such a weight opprest, 

Is by the body carried downe : 

But when she mindfull of her birth, 

Her self from vgly spots dcbarres ; 

She lifts her friendly house from earth, 

And beares it with her to the starres. 

See how the empty bodies lyes, 

Where now no liuely soule remaines : 

Yet when short time with swiftnesse flyes, 

The height of senses it rcgaines. 

Those ages shall be soon at hand, 



When kindly heate the bones reniewes ; 
And shall the former house command, 
"Where liuing blood it shall infuse. 
Doll carkases to dust now worne, 
Which long in graues corrupted lay, 
Shall to the nimble ayre be borne, 
Where soules before haue led the way. 
Hence comes it, to adome the graue, 
With carefull labour men affect : 
The limbes dissolu'd last honour haue, 
And fun'rall rites with pompe are deckt : 
The custome is to spread abroad 
White linnens, grac'd with splendour pure, 
Sabsean myrrh on bodies strow'd, 
Preserues them from decay secure. 
The hollow stones by earners wrought, 
Which in faire monuments are laid, 
Declare that pledges thither brought, 
Are not to death but sleepe conuay'd. 
The pious Christians this ordaine, 
Beleeuing with a prudent eye, 
That those shall rise and Hue againe, 
Who now in freezing slumbers lye. 
He that the dead — disperst in fields — 
In pittie hides, with heapes of molds, 
To his Almighty Sauiour yeelds, 
A worke which he with ioy beholds. 


The same law warnes vs all to grone, 

"Whom one seuere condition ties, 

And in another's death to mone. 

All fun'rals, as of our allies : 

That reu'rend man in goodnesse bred, 

"Who blest Tobias did beget, 

Preferred the buriall of the dead 

Before his meate, though ready set ; 

He, while the seruants waiting stand, 

Forsakes the cups, the dishes leaues, 

And digges a graue with speedy hand, 

Yfhich with the bones his teares receiues. 

Eewards from heaU'n this worke requite : 

]No slender price is here repaid, 

God cleares the eyes that saw no light, 

While fishes' gall on them is laid. 

Then the Creator would descry, 

How farre from reason they are led, 

Who sharpe and bitter things apply, 

To soules on which new life is spred. 

He also taught that to no wight, 

The hcau'nly kingdome can be seene, 

Till vext with wounds and darksome night, 

He in the world's r6ugh waucs hath been. 

The curse of death a blessing finds, 

Because by this tormenting woe, 

Bteepe waies lyeplaineto spotlcssc minds, 


"Who to the starres by sorrowes goe. 

The bodies which long perisht lay, 

Eeturne to liue in better yeeres : 

That vnion neuer shall decay, 

"Where after death new warmth appeares. 

The face where now pale color dwels, 

Whence foule infection shall arise, 

The flowres in splendour then excels, 

When blood the skinne with beauty dies. 

No age by Time's imperious law, 

"With enuious prints the forehead dimmes : 

No drought, no leanenesse then can draw 

The moysture from the wither'd limmes. 

Diseases which the body eate, 

Infected with oppressing paines, 

In midst of torments then shall sweate, 

Imprison' d in a thousand chaines. 

The. conqu'ring flesh immortall growes, 

Beholding from the skies aboue, 

The endlesse groning of her foes, 

For sorrowes which from them did moue. 

"Why are vndecent howlings mixt 

By liuing men in such a case ? 

Why are decrees so sweetly fixt, 

Reprou'd with discontented face ? 

Let all complaints and murmurs fai le ; 

Ye tender mothers stay your teares, 


Let none their children deare bewaile, 

For life renew'd in death appears. 

So buried seeds, though dry and dead, 

Againe with smiling greennesse spring : 

And from the hollow furrowes bred, 

Attempt new eares of corne to bring. 

Earth, take this man with kind embrace, 

In thy soft bosome him conceiue : 

For humane members here I place, 

And gen'rous parts in trust I leaue. 

This house, the soule her guest once felt, 

"Which from the Maker's mouth proceeds : 

Here sometime feruent wisdome dwelt, 

Which Christ the Prince of Wisedome breeds. 

A cou'ring for this body make : 

The Author neuer will forget 

His workes ; nor will those lookes forsake, 

In which He hath His picture set. 

For when the course of time is past, 

And all our hopes fulfill' d shall be, 

Thou op'ning must restore at last 

The limbes in shape which now we see. 

Nor if long age with pow'rfull reigne, 

Shall turne the bones to scatter' d dust, 

And onely ashes shall rctaine, 

In compasse of a handfull thrust : 

Nor if swift floods, or strong command 


Of windes through empty ayre haue tost 

The members with the flying sand ; 

Yet man is neuer fully lost, 

God, while mortal! bodies are 

Recall' d by Thee, and form'd againe. 

"What happy seate wilt Thou prepare, 

"Where spotlesse soules may safe remaine ; 

In Abraham's bo some they shall lie 

Like Lazarus, whose flowry crowne 

The rich man doth farre off espie, 

WTiile him sharp e fiery torments drowne. 

Thy words, Sauiour we respect, 

Whose triumph driues black Death to losse, 

When in Thy steps thou woulds't direct 

The thief e Thy fellow on the crosse. 

The faithfull see a shining way, 

Whose length to paradise extends, 

This can them to those trees conuay, 

Lost by the Serpent's cunning ends. 

To Thee I pray most certaine Guide : 

let this soule which Thee obay'd, 

In her faire birth-place pure abide, 

From which she, banisht, long hath stray 'd. 

While we vpon the couer'd bones 

Sweet violets and leaues will throw : 

The title and the cold hard stones, 

Shall with our liquid odours flow. 


PPUS. 1 

'HAT course of life should wretched mortals 
take ? 
In Courts, hard questions, large con- 
tentions make, 
Care dwels in houses, labour in the field, 
Tumultuous seas affrighting dangers yeeld, 
In forraine Lands thou neuer canst be blest ; 
If rich, thou art in feare ; if poore distrest. 
In wedlock, frequent discontentments swell : 
Ynmarried persons, as in desarts dwell. 
How many troubles are with children borne ! 
Yet he that wants them, counts himselfe forlorne. 
Young men are wanton, and of wisedome void : 
Gray haires are cold, vnfit to be imploid. 
"Who would not one of these two offers choose : 
Not to be borne, or breath with speede to loose ? 

1 Bp. Henry King in his " Elegy occasioned by 
Sickness' 1 alludes to and quotes from this Epigram as 
follows : 

« with, that Greek Sage still make us cry 

Not to ho horn, or being horn, to dy." 

Cf. last line of above. The Original is given from Brunck, 
(Gnomon Gr. P. p 196.) in Hannah's edition of King, 



JN" eu'ry way of life, true pleasure flowes, 
Immortall fame, from publike action 
growes : 

"Within the doores is found appeasing rest ; 
In fields, the gifts of Nature are exprest. 
The sea brings gaine, the rich abroad prouide, 
To blaze 2 their names, the poore their wants to hide : 
All housholds best are gouern'd by a wife ; 
His cares are light, who leades a single life. 
Sweet children, are delights, which marriage blesse : 
He that hath none, disturbs his thoughts the lesse. 
Strong youth, can triumph in victorious deeds : 

Notes p. 173. Bacon has the sentiment in his well-known 
grave and tender poem, after the same Epigram, thus : 

" What then remains but that we still should cry 
For being born, and being born to die. 

I may note that this Poem, bearing Bacon's name, is 
found appended to Sylvester's 'Panthea' (1630). See 
further in our edition of the Poems of Bacon, in first Series 
of ' Miscellanies ' in our Worthies. G. 

1 For an ample collection of similar passages to above 
and preceding, see Davis's notes to Cicero's Tusc. Disp. i. 
48. Hannah, as before, p. 173. G. 

2. Cf. our Phineas Fletcher, ii., 313; iii, 36: iv., 42, 
411. G. 


Old age the soule, with pious motion feeds. 
All states are good, and they are falsly led, 
"Who wish to be vnborne, or quickly dead. 


HIS was my wish : no ample space of 
ground : 
T" include my garden with a mod'rate 
And neere my house a fountaine neuer dry, 
A little wood, which might my wants supply ; 
The gods haue made me blest with larger store : 
It is sufficient, I desire no more. 
sonne of Maia, but this grant alone, 
That quiet vse may make these gifts mine owne. 
If I increase them by no lawlesse way, 
JSTor through my fault will cause them to decay. 
If not to these fond hopes my thoughts decline, 
that this ioyning corner could be mine, 
Which with disgrace deformes, and maimes my 

Or fortune would a pot of siluer yeeld, 
— As vnto him who being hir'd to workc, 
Discoucr'd treasure, which in mold did lurke, 
And bought the land which he before had till'd 


Since friendly Hercules his bosome fill'd — 

If I with thankfull minde these blessings take, 

Disdaine not this petition which I make. 

Let fat in all things, but my wit, be seene, 

And be my safest guard as thou hast been. 

When from the citty I my selfe remoue 

Yp to the hills, as to a towre aboue, 

I find no fitter labours, nor delights 

Then Satyres, which my lowly Muse indites. 

!No foule ambition can me there expose 

To danger, nor the leaden wind that blowes 

Prom Southerne parts, nor Autumne's grieuous 

"Whence bitter Libitina reapes her gaine. 

father of the morning's purple light ! 
Or if thou rather would' st be Ianus hight ; 
From whose diuine beginning, mortalls draw 
The paines of life, according to the law, 
Which is appointed by the gods decree, 
Thou shalt the entrance of my verses be. 

At Rome thou driu'st me, as a pledge to goe, 
That none himselfe may more officious show. 
Although the fury of the JSTortherne blast 
Shall sweepe the earth ; or Winter's force hath 

The snowy day, into a narrow sphere, 

1 must proceed, and hauing spoken cleare 



And certaine truth, must wrestle in the throng, 

Where by my haste, the slower suffer wrong, 

And crie, "What ayles the mad man ? whither tend 

His speedy steps ? while mine imperions frend 

Intreates, and chafes, admitting no delay, 

And I must beate all those, that stop my way. 

The glad remembrance of Mecsenas lends 

A sweete content : but when my iourney bends, 

To blacke Esquilise, there a hundred tides 

Of strangers' causes presse my head and sides, 

You must, before the second houre, appeare 

In Court to morrow, and for Eoscius sweare. 

The scribes desire you would to them repaire, 

About a publike, great, and new affaire, 

Procure such fauour from Mecsenas' hand, 

As that his seale may on this paper stand. 

I answer, I will trie : he vrgeth still, 

I know you can performe it if you will : 

Seu'n yeeres are fled, the eighth is almost gone, 

Since first Mecaanas tooke me for his owne, 

That I with him might in his chariot sit, 

And only then would to my trust commit 

Such toyes 1 as these : what is the time of day ? 

The Thracian is the Syrian's match in play. 

Now carelc^se men are nipt with morning cold : 

1 Trifles. G. 


And words which open eares may safely hold. 
In all this space for eur'y day and honre 
I grew more snbiect to pale Enuie's pow'r. 
This sonne of Fortune to the stage resorts, 
And with the fau'rite in the field disports: 
Fame from the pulpits 1 runnes through eu'ry 

And I am strictly askt by all I meete : 
Good Sir you needes must know, for you are neare 
Ynto the gods — doe you no tidings heare 
Concerning Dacian troubles ? Nothing I. 
You allwayes loue your friends with scoffes to try, 
If I can tell, the gods my life confound. 
But where will Caesar giue his souldiers ground, 
In Italie, or the Trinacrian He ? 
I sweare I know not : they admire 2 the while, 
And thinke me full of silence, graue and deepe, 
The onely man that should high secrets keepe ; 
For these respects — poore wretch — I lose the light, 
And longing thus repine : when shall my sight 

1 Cf. Nehermah viii.. 4 : another of the few words over- 
looked by Mr. W. A. "Wright in his Bible "Word-Book. 
From the Latin pulpitum, as in Horace, Ep. 1, 19, 39: A. 
P. 174, 278 : Juvenal 3, 174 ; 7, 93 et alibi : but in 
Juvenal above, and in Horace before, the word is rostra. 

2 Wonder. G. 


Againe bee happy in beholding thee 

My countrey farme ? or when shall I be free 

To reade in bookes what ancient writers speake, 

To rest in sleepe, which others may not breake, 

To taste — in houres secure from courtly strife — 

The soft obliuion of a carefull life ? 

when shall beanes ypon my boord appeare , 

Which wise Pythagoras esteem'd so deare ? 

Or when shall fatnesse of the lard anoint 

The herbes, which for my table I appoint ? 

suppers of the gods ! nights diuine ! 

"When I before our Lar might feast with mine, 

And feede my prating slaues with tasted meate, 

As eu'ry one should haue desire to eate. 

The frolike guest not bound with heauy lawes, 

The liquor from vnequall measures drawes : 

Some being strong, delight in larger draughts, 

Some call for lesser caps to cleere their thoughts. 

Of others house and lands no speaches grow, 

JSTor whether Lepos danceth well or no. 

We talke of things which to our selues pertaine, 

Which not to know would be a sinfull stain e. 

Are men by riches or by vertue blest ? 

Of friendship's ends is vse or right the best ? 

Of good what is the nature, what excells ? 

My neighbour Ceruius old wiues fables tells ; 

When any one Arellius* wealth admires, 


And little knowes what troubles it requires, 

He thus beginues : ' Long since a countrey mouse 

Receau'd into his low and homely house 

A citty mouse, his friend and guest before ; 

The host was sharpe and sparing of his store, 

Yet much to hospitality inclin'd : 

For such occasions could dilate his mind. 

He chiches 1 giues, for Winter layd aside, 

Nor are the long and slender otes deny'd : 

Dry grapes he in his lib'rall mouth doth beare, 

And bits of bacon which halfe eaten were : 

With various meates to please the stranger's pride, 

Whose dainty teeth through all the dishes slide. 

The father of the family in straw 

Lies stretcht along, disclaigning not to gnaw 

Base come or darnel], and reserues the best, 

To make a perfect banquet for his guest. 

To him at last the citizen thus spake : 

My friend, I muse what pleasure thou canst take, 

Or how thou canst endure to spend thy time 

In shady groues, and vp steepe hills to clime. 

In sauage forrrest build no more thy den : 

Goe to the city, there to dwell with men. 

Begin this happy iourney, trust to me, 

I will thee guide, thou shalt my fellow be : 

1 A dwarf-pea or vetch. G, 


Since earthly things are ty'd to mortall Hues, 

And eu'ry great, and little creauture striues 

In yaine the certaine stroke of death to flie, 

Stay not till moments past thy ioyes denie. 

Liue in rich plenty, and perpetuall sport, 

Liue euer mindfull, that thine age is short. 

The rauisht field-mouse holds these words so sweet, 

That from his home he leapes with nimble feet. 

They to the citie trauaile with delight, 

And vnderneath the walles they creepe at night. 

Now darknesse had possest heau'n's middle space, 

"When these two friends their weary steps did place 

"Within a wealthy palace, where was spred 

A scarlet cou'ring on an iu'ry bed : 

The basket — set farre off aside — contain' d 

The meates, which after plenteous meales remain' d : 

The citie mouse with courtly phrase intreates 

His country friend to rest in purple seates ; 

"With ready care the master of the feast 

Eunnes vp and downe to see the store increast : 

He all the duties of a seruant showes, 

And tastes of eu'ry dish, that he bestowes. 

The poore plaine mouse, exalted thus in state, 

Glad of the change, his former life doth hate. 

And striues in lookes and gesture to declare 

With what contentment he receiues this fare. 

But straight the sudden creaking of a doore 


Shakes both these mice from beds into the floore. 
They runne about the roome halfe dead with feare, 
Through all the house the noise of dogs they heare. 
The stranger now counts not the place so good, 
He bids farewell, and saith, the silent wood 
Shall me hereafter from these dangers saue, 
"Well pleas' d with simple vetches in my caue.' 

HOEAT. CAEM. LIB. 3. OD. 29. 

ECiEXAS, — sprung from Tuscan kings — 
for thee 
Milde wine in vessels neuer toucht, I 
keepe : 
Here roses, and sweete odours be, 
Whose dew thy haire shall steepe : 
stay not, let moyst Tibur be disdain'd, 
And iEsulae's declining fields, and hills, 
"Where once Telegonus remain' d, 
Whose hand his father kills ; 
Forsake that height where lothsome plenty cloyes, 
And towres, which to the lofty clouds aspire ; 
The smoke of Eome, her wealth and noyse 
Thou wilt not here admire. 
In pleasing change, the rich man takes delight 
And frugall meales in homely seates allowes, 


Where hangings want, and purple bright 
He cleares his carefull browes. 
Now Cepheus plainely shewes his hidden fire, 
The Dog-starre now his furious heate displayes, 
The Lion spreads his raging ire, 
The Sunne brings parching dayes. 
The Shepheard now his sickly flocke restores, 
"With shades, and riuers, and the thickets finds 
Of rough Siluanus ; silent shores 
Are free from playing winds. 
To keepe the State in order is thy care, 
Sollicitous for Rome, thou fear'st the warres, 
Which barbrous easterne troopes prepare, 
And Tanais vs'd to iarres. 
The wise Creator from our knowledge hides 
The end of future times in darksome night ; 
False thoughts of mortals He derides, 
When them vaine toyes affright. 
With mindfull temper present houres compose, 
The rest are like a riuer, which with ease, 
Sometimes within his channell flowes, 
Into Etrurian seas. 
Oft stones, trees, flocks, and houses it deuoures, 
With echoes from the hills, and neighb'ring woods, 
When some fierce deluge, rais'd by showres, 
Turnes quiet brookes to floods. 
He master of himselfe, in mirth may Hue, 


Who saith, I rest well pleas' d with former dayes ; 
Let God from heau'n to morrow giue 
Blacke clouds, or sunny rayes. 
No force can make that voide, which once is past, 
Those things are neuer alter' d, or vndone, 
Which from the instant rolling fast, 
With flying moments run. 
Proud Fortune ioyfull sad affaires to finde, 
Insulting in her sport, delights to change 
Yncertaine honours : quickly kinde, 
And straight againe as strange. 
I prayse her stay, but if she stirre her wings, 
Her gifts I leaue, and to my selfe retire, 
Wrapt in my vertue : honest things 
In want no dowre require. 
When Lybian stormes, the mast in pieces shake, 
I neuer God with pray'rs and vowes implore, 
Lest precious wares addition make 
To greedy Neptune's store. 
Then I contented, with a little bote, 
Am through JEgean waues, by winds conuay'd, 
Where Pollux makes me safely flote, 
And Castor's friendly aide. 



E happy is, who farre from busie sounds, 
— As sn^ient mortals dwelt — 
With his owne oxen tills his father's 

And debts hath neuer felt. 
No Warre disturbes his rest with fierce alarmes, 

Nor angry seas offend : 
He shunnes the law, and those ambitious charmes, 

Which great men's doores attend. 
The lofty poplers with delight he weds 

To vines that grow apace, 
And with his hooke vnfruitfull branches shreds, 

More happy sprouts to place ; 
Or else beholds, how lowing heards astray, 

In narrow valleys creepe ; 
Or in cleane pots doth pleasant hony lay, 

Or sheares his feeble sheepe. 
When Autumn e from the ground his head vpreares, 

With timely apples chain' d, 
How glad is he to pluck ingrafted peares, 

And grapes with purple stain'd ! 
Thus he Priapus, or Syluanus payes, 

Who keepcs his limits free, 
His weary limbes, in holding 1 grasse he layes, 

1 = matted. G. 


Or vnder some old tree : 
Along the lofty bankes the waters slide, 

The birds in woods lament, 
The springs with trickling streams the ayre diuide, 

"Whence gentle sleepes are lent. 
But when great Ioue, in Winter's dayes restores 

Vnpleasing showres and snowes, 
"With many dogs he drives the angry bores 

To snares which them oppose. 
His slender nets dispos'd on little stakes, 

The greedy thrush preuent : 
The fearefull hare, and forraine crane he takes, 

With this reward content. 
Who will not in these ioyes forget the cares, 

W^ich oft in loue we meete : 
But when a modest wife the trouble shares 

Of house and children sweete, 
— Like Sabines, or the swift Apulian's wiues, 

Whose cheekes the sunbeames harme ; 
When from old wood she sacred fire contriues, 

Her weary mate to warme, 
W r hen she with hurdles, her glad floekes confines, 

And their full vdders dries, 
And from sweet vessels drawes the yearely wines, 

And meates vnbought supplies ; 
No Lucrine oysters can my palate please, 

Those fishes I neglect, 


Which tempests thundring on the easterne seas 

Into our waues direct. 
No bird from Affrike sent, my taste allowes, 

Nor fowle which Asia breeds : 
The oliue — gather' d from the fatty boughes — 

With more delight me feeds. 
Sowre herbs, which loue the meades, or mallowes 

To ease the body, pain'd : 
A lambe which sheds to Terminus her blood, 

Or kid from wolues regain' d. 
"What ioy is at these feasts, when well-fed flocks 

Themselues for home prepare ! 
Or when the weake necke of the weary oxe 

Drawes back th' inuerted share ? 
"When slaues — the swarmes that wealthy houses 
charge — 

Neere smiling Lar, sit downe : 
This life when Alphius hath describ'd at large, 

Inclining to the clowne, 
He at the Ides calles all that money in, 

Which he hath let for gaine : 
But when the next month shall his course begin, 

He puts it out againe. 



PEE. SAT. 2. 

JIACBIJSITS, let this happy day be knowne 
As white, and noted with a better stone, 
"Which to thine age doth sliding yeeres 
combine : 
Before thy genins powre forth cups of wine, 
Thy pray'rs expect no base and greedy end, 
"Which to the gods thou closely must commend : 
Though most of those whom honours lift on high, 
In all their off' rings silent incense frie, 
All from the temple are not apt to take 
Soft lowly sounds, and open yowes to make. 
The gifts of minde, fame, faith he vtters cleare, 
That strangers may farre off his wishes heare : 
But this he mumbles vnderneath his tongue : 
that mine vnkle's death expected long, 
Would bring a fun' rail which no cost shall lacke ! 
that a pot of siluer once would cracke 
Beneath my harrow, by Alcides sent ! 
Or that I could the orphan's hopes pieuent, 1 
To whom I am next heire, and must succeed ! 
— Since swelling humours in his body breed, 
Which threaten oft the shortaesse of his life — 
How blest is Nerius, thrice to change his wife ! 

1 Anticipate = come before. G. 


Those are the holy pray'rs for which thy head 

— When first the morning hath her mantle spred — 

Is dipt so many times in Tiber's streames, 

"Where running waters purge the nightly dreames. 

I thus demand : in answer he not slo w, 

It is not much that I desire to know : 

Of Ioue what think' st thou ? if thy iudgement can 

Esteeme him iuster then a mortall man ? 

Then Staius ? doubt' st thou which of these is best 

Toiudge aright the fatherlesse opprest? 

The speech with which thine impious wishes dare 

Prophane Ioue's eares, to Staius now declare : 

Ioue, good Ioue, he will straight exclaime, 

And shall not Ioue crie out on his owne name ? 

For pardon can'st thou hope, because the oke 

Is sooner by the sacred brimstone broke, 

When thunder teares the ayre, then thou and 

Because thou ly'st not, as a dismall signe 
In woods, while entrailes, and Ergennae's art, 
Eid all from thy sad carkase to depart, 
Will therefore Ioue his foolish beard extend, 
Eor thee to pull ? what treasure can'st thou spend 
To make the eares of gods by purchase thine ? 
Can lights]; and bowels bribe the pow'rs diuine ? 

1 The original is * pufonone ct lactibus unctis/ I had 


Some grandame, or religious aunt, whose ioy 

Is from the cradle to take out the boy, 

In lustral spittle her long finger dips, 

And expiates his forehead and his lips. 

Her cunning from bewitching eyes defends, 

Then in her armes she dandles him, and sends 

Her slender hope, which humble vowes propound 

To Crassus house, or to Licinius' ground. 

Let kings and queenes wish him their sonne in 

Let all the wenches him in pieces draw ; 
May eu'ry stalke of grasse on which he goes, 
Be soone transform' d into a fragrant rose. 
JSTo such request to nurses I allow, 
Ioue — though she pray in white — refuse her vow : 
Thou would' st firme sinewes haue, a body strong, 
"Which may in age continue able long, 
But thy grosse meates, and ample dishes stay 
The gods from granting this, and Ioue delay. 
With hope to raise thy wealth, thou kill'st an oxe, { 
Inuoking Hermes : blesse my house and fiockes. 
How can it be — yaine foole — when in the fires 
The melted fat of many steeres expires ? 
Yet still thou think' st to ouercome at last, 

thought that ' lights ' = lungs, was limited to Scotland as 
applied to oxen and the like. Gr. 


While many offrings in the flame are cast ! 
Now shall my fields be large, my sheepe increase ; 
Now it will come, now, now ; nor wilt thou cease, 
Yntil decern' d, and in thy hopes deprest, 
Thou sigh'st to see the bottom of thy chest : 
When I to thee haue cups of siluer brought, 
Or gifts in solid golden metall wrought : 
The left side of thy brest will dropping, sweate, 
And full of ioy thy trembling heart will beate. 
.Hence comes it, that with gold in triumph borne, 
Thou do'st the faces of the gods adorne, 
Among the brazen brethren they that send 
Those dreames, where euill humours least extend, 
The highest place in men's affections hold, 
And for their care receiue a beard 1 of gold : 
The glorious name of gold hath put away 
The yse of Saturne's brasse, and Nuniae's clay. 
This glitt' ring pride to richer substance turnes 
The Tuscan earthen pots, and vestall vrnes. 
crooked soules, declining to the earth, 
Whose empty thoughts forget their heau'nly birth : 
What end, what profit haue we, when we striue 
Our manners to the temples to deriue ? 2 
Can we suppose, that to the gods we bring 
Some pleasing good for this corrupted spring ? 

1 Cf the Commentators on the original, aurea barba. G. 

2 Communicate. G. 


This flesh, which Casia doth dissolue and spoyle, 
And with that mixture taints the natiue oyle : 
This boyles the fish with purple liquor full, 
And staines the whitenesse of Calabrian woolL 
This from the shell scrapes out the pearle, and 

From raw rude earth the feruent metal's veines 
This sinnes, it sinnes, 1 yet makes some vse of vice : 
But tell me, ye great Plamins, can the price 
Raise gold to more account in holy things, 
Then babies, which the maid to Venus brings ? 
Nay rather let us yeeld the gods such gifts, 
As great Messallae's off-spring neuer lifts, 
In costly chargers strecht to ample space, 
Because degen'rate from his noble race : 
A soule where rust and pious thoughts are chain'd : 
A mind, whose secret corners are vnstain'd : 
A brest, in which all gen'rous vertues lie, 
And paint it with a neuer-fading die. 
Thus to the temples let me come with zeale, 
The gods will heare me, though I offer meale. 

1 The original is 'peccat et ha3C, peccat : vitio tamen 
utitur ' = The flesh too errs, it errs : but yet makes profit 
of its error.' G. 



MAN, both good and wise, whose perfect 
Apollo cannot in a thousand find : 
As his owne iudge, himselfe exactly knowes, 
Secure what lords or vulgar brests suppose : 
He, like the world an equall roundnesse beares, 
On his smooth sides no outward spot appeares : 
He thinkes, how Cancer's starre increaseth light ; 
How Capricorne's cold tropicke lengthens night ; 
And by iust scales will all his actions trie, 
That nothing sinke too low, nor rise too high, 
That corners may with euen parts incline, 
And measures erre not with a faulty line, 
That all within be solid, lest some blow 
Should by the sound the empty vessel show ; 
Ere he to gentle sleepe his eyes will lay, 
His thoughts reuolue the actions of the day, 1 
"What houres from me with dull neglect haue 

"What was in time, or out of season done? 
"Why hath this worke, adorning beauty lackt, 

1 The Sir Charles Bawdin of Chatterton 
" Summed the actions of the day 
Each night before he slept." G. 


Or reason wanted in another fact ? x 
What things haue I forgotten, why design'd 
To seeke those ends, which better were declin'd ? 
When to the needy wretch I gaue reliefe, 
Why was my broken soule possest with griefe ? 
In what haue my mistaking wishes err'd, 
Why profit more then honesty pref err'd ? 
Could my sharpe words another man incense, 
Or were my bookes compos' d to breed offence? 
How comes it that corrupted nature drawes 
My will from discipline's amending lawes? 
Thus going slowly through his words and deeds, 
He from one eu'ning to the next proceeds : 
Peruerting crimes he checkes with angry frownes, 
Straight leuell'd vertues he rewards with crownes. 


HEICE happy he, whose age is spent vpon 
his owne, 


The same house sees him old, which him 
a child hath known ; 

1 Deed, act. G. 

2 Cf. Thomas Randolph's De Senee. Veron : ex 
Claudian (1640) and Cowley's, the latter eliciting thejpraise 
of Byron in his caustic " Age of Bronze" ix. G. 


He leanes vpon his staffe in sand where once lie 

His mem'ry, long descents of one poore cote hath 

kept ; 
He through the Various strife of fortune neuer past, 
JNor as a wand'ring guest would forraine waters 

taste ; 
He neuer fear'd the seas in trade, nor sound of 

INor in hoarse courts of law, hath felt litigious iarres ; 
Ynskilfull in affaires, he knowes no city neare, 
So freely he enioyes the sight of heau'n more cleare ; 
The yeeres by seu'rall come, not consuls he com- 
He notes the Spring by flowres, and Autumne by 

the fruits ; 
One space put downe the sunne, and brings againe 

the rayes, 
Thus by a certain orbe he measures out the dayes. 
Remembring some great oke from small beginning 

He sees the wood grow old, which with himselfe 

was bred. 
Verona next of townes as farre as India seemes, 
And for the Ruddy Sea, Bcnacus he estccmes : 
Yet still his armes arc firme, his strength vntam'd 
and greene ; 



The full third age hath him a lusty grandsire seene. 
Let others trauaile farre, and hidden coasts display 
This man hath more of life, and those haue more 
of way. 




The following is the original title-page : 


phosis OF 


Lusimus Octaui &c. 
[An oval wood-cut of bi-forked 
Parnassus, with a tobacco plant, 
a sun-flower and a pansy, with 
the conventional sun a-top. 
The motto round it is * Parnasso 
et Apolline digna.] 


Imprinted for Iohn Flasket, and are to be sold at his 

shop in Paules Church-yard at the signe 

of the black Beare. 1602. 

Collation— 21 leaves, including the title-page. The only 
known copy is in the British Museum, among the King's 
books: 1077. h. 15. The title-page is somewhat soiled 
and mended : bound in saffron morocco. Mr. Collier re- 
printed it in his l First Series ' but I have been unable to 
meet with it, though helped by himself. He kindly 
favoured me with his own transcript : but I have collated 
every line and word myself with the original exemplar, 
correcting a very considerable aggregate of mistakes, and 
adding notes as required. I notice reluctantly Mr. 
Collier's mistakes : but it is necessary in respect of compar- 
ison between his reprint and my own — assuming that ho 

NOTE. 265 

followed his faulty transcript. The motto in title-page 
is taken from the first line of Virgil's Culex : 

" Lusimus, Octavi, gracili modulante Thalia " 

—kindly pointed out to me by Mr. W. A. Wright of Cam- 
bridge. For the authorship of the * Metamorphosis, ' see 
our Memorial-Introduction. G. 


Ad mare riuuli 




The tender labour of my wearie pen, 

And doubtful! triall of my first-borne rimes, 

Loaths to adorne the triumphs of those men, 

Which hold the raines of fortunes, and the times : 

Only to thee, which art with ioy possest 

Of the faire hill, where troupes of Poets stand, 

Where thou enthron'd with laurell garlands blest. 

Maist lift me vp with thy propitious hand ; 

I send this poeme, which for nought doth care, 
But words forewords, and loue for loue to share, 

namq. tu solebas 

Meas esse aliquid putare nugas. 2 

1 Born 1563: died 1631. See Memorial-Introduction 
for Drayton's friendship with our Poet. G. 

2 From Catullus i, 3, 4. G. 

firdimmarg ^zxszs. 


KAUNT me smooth utt'rance Muses, to 

The pleasing smoothnesse of thy worthy 
verse : 
If there be words fram'd by admired wits 
To sing thy praise, those words my yerse befits ; 
But such are scant, and there's not one remaines 
Can giue thee due, none worth enough containes 
To sing thy praise in an vp -raised straine, 
And giue desert to thy admired paine. 1 
Feare not the censure of each babbling tongue, 
They care not whom they pleasure, whom they 

Bespect it not if fooles thy Muse miscall, 

1 Pains = painstaking, and so onward. G, 


Thy paine, her worth, deserues applause of all : 

In whose adoring if my pen offends, 

My heart my pen's defaults will make amends. 

Z. D l . 

See, how the chattring throngs of Poets vaine 
Besiege the paths unto the Muses' cell : 
See how they pant, and heate with fruitlesse paine 
The steepie traces to the learned well : 
Securely thou their vaine assaults discount, 
Thou, whom Apollo by the hand hath guided 
A new-found passage to the horned mount, 
And from the rout vnhallowed hath deuided, 

And taught thee raise thy soring Muse on wing, 
And thy triumphant name in learned eares to 
There didst thou gather on Parnassus clift 
This precious herbe, Tabacco most diuine, 
Then which nere Greece, nere Italy did lift 
A flower more fragrant to the Muses' shrine : 
A purer sacrifice did nere adorne 

1 It was a common contemporary practice to reverse 
initials : and probably this was one of the Zouch family, 
who joined our Poet in his lamentations for Lord Stafford, 
Bee pp 187—120, ante. G. 


Apollo's altar, then this Indian fire ; 

The pipe, thy head : the flame to make it burne, 

The furie, which the Muses doe inspire. 

sacred smoke, that doth from hence arise, 
The author's winged praise, which beates upon 
the skies. 

W. B. 1 

"When Helicon and Tempe doe adorne 
With sugred gifts of diuine poetrie, 
Let no detracting Zoilus him scorne, 
Thinking thereby to cure his maladie ; 

For he that once doth Homer's pen dispraise, 
Cannot himselfe to Laureat's honour raise. 
Then thou, that art the author of this booke, 
Send forth that sacred fume from out thy braine, 

1 Query— William Barkstead, author of u Mirrha, the 
mother of Adonis : or Lustes Prodegies ,, (1607) and 
"Hiren: or the Faire Greeke'' (1611.) He is probably 
also the 'W. B.' of the Verses "in laudem Auctoris'' 
prefixed to u Salmasis and Hermaphrodites " (1602) of 
Francis Beaumont, the Dramatist : but see our Memorial- 
Introduction on the authorship of that volume. G- 


That thereon well-disposed wits may looke, 
And say, Giue me Tabacco once againe ; 
For Castile nere did such a pipe afford 
Of Trinidade, upon mine honest word. 

H. H. 1 

If that the Bee, whose winter paines are rest 
For gathering honey in the fruitfull Spring, 
And making choise of eu'ry flowre the best, 
That to her hiue she may the sweetnesse bring : 
Doth to her selfe deserue so great a praise, 
What may be his, whose whole yeares worst spent 

For recreation on some idle daies, 
Hath suckt such hony from an Indian flower ? 
What may be his whose yonger yeares are such ? 
What may be his whose first fruits are so faire ? 
What may be his, I cannot say too much, 

1 A " Henry Harrington' ' wrote the "Charme"in 
the 1640 edition of l Salmasis and Hermaphroditus, " as 
before : (Collier's Bibl : Account, i. 62-63) and also com- 
mendatory Verses prefixed with numerous others, to 
Beaumont and Fletcher (Vol. i., pp. lvi-ii). Query— the 
present Verses by him P G. 


Nay, what is his to giue I doe despaire : 
As one too weake to giue them their desart, 
Yet rather chuse my selfe to take a maime, 
Then for to faile to shew a louing hart 
Vnto my friend to recompence his paine. 

LA, 1 

What my poore Muse can do, she vowes is thine : 
Black set to white makes it farre cleerer shine. 
This like a faithfull friend she first assaies 
"With her owne shame to purchase thee the praise : 
And yet if enuie seeke thy worth to blot, 
— As what deserts be they she staineth not — 
Through truer zeale shee plaies this second part : 
The spite, that's aimd at thee, comes through her 
hart. JST. P. 

Sometimes all man, that hath usd soule and 

Must print his heele on the black way of Death : 
But this small poeme, though the least of manie, 

1 Query— John Andrew, author of " The Anatomie of 
Basenesse"(16l5) ? G. 


Shall Hue like soules, though Nature's worst gilts 

Till all the compounds weare their fierie sheete, 
Not till all Death, shall this slight storie fleete. 

M. G. 1 


Take up these lines Tabacco-like vnto thy braine, 

And that diuinely toucht, puffe out the smoke 

againe. B. H. 2 

My new-borne Muse assaies her tender wing, 
And where she should crie is enforst to sing : 
Her children prophesie thy pleasing rime 
Shall neuer be a dish for hungrie Time : 
Yet be regardlesse what those verses say, 
"Whose infant mother was but borne to day. 

F. B. 3 

1 Query — Matthew Grove, author of " The most 
famous Historic of Pelops and Hippodamia. " (L587) ? G. 

2 A ' B. H, ' was author of " The Glasse of Man's 
Folly." (1615). G. 

3 Francis Beaumont, the Dramatist, younger brother 


I doe inuoke none but thy selfe to praise thee, 

Eor there's no other Muse so high can raise thee. 

Thou art my Muse, I can thy praises tell : 

My Muse hath tasted of the Muses well. 

F. E. 

The tender plant which goodly fruit hath bore, 
Being growne, doth promise farre more beautious 

store : 
Seeing thy youth's prime a worthie worke hath 

"What shall thy riper Muse produce to light ? 
Tabacco's spring, transforming, soueraigntie 1 
Set'st forth with truth, fictions, Philosophie ; 
Merits enroulment with Mseonian quill, 
Thy wit, zeale, labours, and thy learned skill. 
Doctrina, ingenio, studijs, pietate, labore, 

Exurpera, polle, profice, cresce, vige. 


of our Poet. See Memorial-Introduction and the pathetic 
lines on his death, p. 182. G. 
1 Such is the pointing. G. 

%\it Jftetamorpfajsis of ^abator. 

SING the loues of the superiour powers 
With the faire mother of all fragrant 
flowers : 

Prom which first loue a glorious simple springs, 
Belou'd of heau'nly Gods, and earthly Kings. 
Let others in their wanton verses chaunt 
A beauteous face that doth the senses daunt, 
And on their Muses' wings lift to the skie 
The radiant beames of an inchaunting eye. 
Me let the sound of great Tabacco' praise 
A pitch aboue those loue-sicke Poets raise : 
Let me adore with my thrice-happie pen 
The sweete and sole delight of mortall men, 
The cornu-copia of all earthly pleasure, 
"Where bank-rupt Nature hath consumed her 

treasure ; 
A worthie plant springing from Plorae's hand, 
The blessed offspring of an uncouth land. 


Breath-gluing herbe, none other I inuoke 

To helpe me paint the praise of sugred smoke : 

Not that corrupted artificiall drug, 

"Which euery Gull as his owne soule doth hug, 

And in the sweete composure of a docke, 

Drinkes to his ladie's dog, and mistresse' smocke : 

Whose best conceits are broacht of bastard fume, 

Whose wittie salt depends on the salt rheume, 

Which first, like vapours, doe ascend on high, 

But quickly vanish ere they touch the skie ; 

Which, like to meteors, for a while amaze 

The simple soules which wondring stand at gaze ; 

But being knowne from whence they first were 

Are counted base, and cease to be admir'd. 
Auant, base Hypocrite ; I call not thee, 
But thou great god of Indian melodie, 
Which at the Caribes banquet gouern'st all, 1 
And gently rul'st the sturdiest Caniball ; 
Which at their bloodie feasts dost crowned sit, 
And smok'st their barking iawes at eu'ry bit ; 
Which lead'st the circle of a sauage round 
With iarring songs, and homely musick's sound ; 
Which to fond mirth their cruell minds dost frame, 
And after with a pleasing sleepe dost tame ; 

1 Caribes bo sauage people of America. 13. 

TABACC0. 277 

By whom the Indian priests inspired be, 

When they presage in barbarous poetrie : 

Infume my braine, make my soule's powers subtile, 

Giue nimble cadence to my harsher stile ; 

Inspire me with thy flame, which doth excell 

The purest streams of the Castalian well, 

That I on thy ascensiue wings may flie, 

By thine ethereal! vapours borne on high, 

And with thy feathers added to my quill 

Hay pitch thy 1 tents on the Parnassian hill. 

Teach me what power thee on the earth did place, 

What god was bounteous to the humane race, 

On what occasion, and by whom it stood, 

That the blest world received so great a good. 

Before the earth and heau'n were create, 
"When the rude chaos 2 lay disconsolate, 
When this great All, and wondrous worke we see 
Had neither forme, nor part, nor qualitie. 
Blind Nature did her atonii* disperse 
Ouer the large confused vniverse, 
And heau'nly powers all out of order plac't 
Were buried in the bowels of the Yast : 

1 Query — my ? Gr. 

2 This Chaos, ancients fame to be a disorde red masse, 
out of which the world was made. B. 

3 Some Philosophers fained that the world was com- 
posed ex atomis, of little motes gathered together. B. 


Then did these seedes, which yet vnpolish't were, 
"Wage warre against the seedes of single-beere 1 
And smothered in that topsi-turuie trance, 
Nourisht some smacke of mirth and ionisance : 2 
But when this massie lumpe had changed her face, 
And eu'ry thing possest his proper place, 
Yet did this plant in darke oblinion lurke 
Small trauaile could not bring forth such a worke. 
■ — Like to Alcmenae's sonne, the god of might, 
"Whom to beget, Ioue made a treble night — 
Till wise Prometheus, which compos' d a creature 
Excelling all the world in forme and feature, 
"When he that rare immortall worke had done, 
Stole fire from the bright chariot of the Sunne ; 
"Which farre-fetcht fire had seru'd him to no end, 
But that the Earth her chiefest powers did lend : 
Eor seeing how great Phoebus was beguil'd 
To make a God of her beloued child, 
And alwaies enuying at the gods aboue, 
— As her Viperean brood of giants proue, 8 

1 Single-beere = weak beer: called in the "Ancient 
Chronicle of London" quoted by Thomas Wright s.v. 
i sougyl beer '. G. 

2=joyfulness, jollity, as in Peel e's l Arraignment of 
Paris ' : ' Such jouisance, such mirth and merriment.' (by 
Dyce p 354). G. 

3 The rebellious giants were fained to haue Viperian 
or Miakie feote. B. 


And totall mine of her stubborne race, 

For whom in teares she washt her watrie face — l 

She call'd her Herald-winds, and charg'd them all 

That they a councell of her subiects call : 

Out goes her Purseuent, the blustring gale, 

And summons eu'ry hill and euery dale, 

Curies eu'ry riuer with a sliding 3 touch 

Prom Titan's rising to his Westerne couch, 

And with the whissing trumpet it doth beare, 

Commaunds each earthly subiect to appeare, 

And on a high embassage doth repaire, 

To Earth's three sisters, "Water, Fire, and Aire : 

— These foure are ioynt co-partners, and co-heires 

Of all that lies below the starry spheres ; 

"Who for their kingdome's bounds haue beene at 

Eut now they, by the sentence of the gods, 
And their dread vmpires, Hot, Drie, Moist, and 

In common, and without diuision hold — 
The day was comen, when on a stately pile 
Pour seates are plac't on the Americke He : 
Where these great Princes and their portly traines 

1 At the generall flood. B. 

2 Cf. our Phineas Fletcher, Index of words s.v. 


Made enterview on the Atlantick plaines. l 

After Pandora 2 had made euident 
The cause of this so sudden Parlement, 
Tearing her flowrie locks, and furrowed face, 
She gan lament the poore Prometheus' case. 
Stand out — quoth she — thou that are thus distrest ; 
Declare thy case, for here thou maist be blest. 
Then stept out he as a condemned man 
Clothed in blacke, and thus his speech began. 
Know, most dread Soueraignes of the lower globe, 
I am a dead man, and this guiltie robe 
Shewes that by colour of the gods contemn' d, 
I to a vultur's mercie am condemn 1 d, 
On Caucasus, amid the Scythian groue, 
By the fear'd sentence of almightie Ioue ; 
There to be tide in euerlasting chaines 7 
Plung'd in the horrour of eternall paines : 
Yet this torments me not, this must be borne, 
— And patience comes perforce to men forlorne — 
Put that my worke, which I haue erst begun, — 
For all my labour, should be left vnclone ; 
That's my vexation, that's my only grief e, 
And only rests in you to giue reliefe : 

1 Atalantis (the Island which Plato mj ntions) some 
supposo to be America. B. 
2 The earth. B. 


For Ioue enuies the beautie of the frame, 
And seekes all meanes how to deface the same 
Looking on me with a suspitious eye, 
As a corrinall of his dignitie ; 
When he may well remember — if he please — 
How little I deserue such lookes as these; 
"When I, with connsell of an aged head, 
Did stay his youthfull thoughts from Thetis' bed, 
And told him there he should beget a sonne 
Should him depose, as he before had done 
His father Saturne : then he thankt me f aire : 
— But words are quickly turn'd to fleeting aire — 
Now hates he me, and doth my worke detest, 
"Which must, unlesse you helpe, vnperfect rest ; 
For all my sharpe inuentions cannot find 
How life vnto this trunke may be combin'd. 
Here granclame Ops 1 her grieued head did shake, 
And made the massie Earth's foundation quake : 
Then gusht cleere fountaines from her hollow eyes, 
— Floods from the Earth's strange motions often 

rise — 
And at the last her lips did part in two, 
— As after earthquakes they are wont to doe : — 
Is't not enough — quoth she — that tyrant Ioue 
Hath my sonne Saturne from his kingdome drone ? 

1 The earth. JB. 

282 TABiCCO. 

And me, his mother, hath confin'd below, 
Because I wept as partner of his woe ? 
Is't not enough my middle part doth frie, 
While head and feete benumd with cold doth lie ? 
That alwaies halfe my realme the sunne doth lack, 
And for his absence mourne in gloomie black ? 
Or that my louing subiects neuer see, 
But halfe the heau'n, wheresoere they be ? 
Is not all this enough, and more then this 
To be secluded from all heaunly blisse ? 
Bound in a dungeon, vs'd as though I were 
A beast ordain' d laborious waights to beare ? 
Each massie thing, and the world's waightiest 

Pressing vnto my center, to my hart, 
Where he hath made huge caues, and darksome 

Places of torture for offending soules, 
"Whose howling yells, cries, curses, grones and 

Are pois'ned obiects to mine eyes and eares : 
And is not this enough, but must he still 
Crosse the good purpose of my harmlesse will, 
Hindring the proiect of our gen'rall care, 
Our sonnc : whose wished fruite we hope to share, 
Nor shall too swcete an expectation mocke 
Ys happie beldames of a blessed stocke : 

TABACC0. 283- 

Only it resteth that we now deuise 

To seate our darling in the starrie skies ; 

Which purpose that we to effect may bring, 

A plant shall from my wrinkled forehead spring, 

And eu'ry ladie shall that herbe endow 

With the best gemmes that deck her glorious brow : 

Which once innam'd with the stolne heau'nly fire 

Shall breath into this liuelesse corse inspire. 

Scarse had she spoke, but by vnite consent 

It was allowed by eu'ry element ; 

Each mountaine nodded, and each riuer sleeke 

Appro v'd the sentence with a dimpled cheeke, 

And eu'ry thing in dauncing measure sprung, 

As erst they did when gentle Orpheus sung. 

As when the actors of some enterlude 

Which please the senses of the multitude, 

Are backt by the spectators of the Play 

With a wisht laughter, or a plaudite : 

So with vnperfect voyces all the rout 

Grace this opinion with a loftie shout. 

— Like Bacchus' priests whom Strymon's banks 

Whom the shrill ecchoes of fleete Hebrus sound 1 — 
Till Fire, the eldest sister, vp did stand 
— And silence made with her imperiall hand — 

1 Strymon and Hebrus, rivers in Thracia. B. 


Praising the proiect, swore to grace the same 
With actiue powers of her eternall flame. 
Aire likewise promist she would rarefie 
The earthly drosse to simple puritie ; 
And caus'd her skipping meteors to addresse 
Their gifts of light, and iocnnd nimblenesse ; 
Her cloudes from hean nly flood-gates manuring 1 
The ground, where this expected herb should 

"Water refus'd her vertues to inspire, 
Least she should quench the hope of future fire ; 
Yet did the seruants of her excellence 
Offer each one their best parts' quintessence : 
The icy waues were all with christall fraught ; 
The Magellanick Sea her vnions 2 brought ; 
Tagus with golden gifts doth proudly rise, 
And doth the famous Indian rills despise ; 
Eridanus his pearl' d electrum 3 gaue ; 
Euripus the swift fluxure of his waue ; 
Erom British Seas doth holesome corall come ; 
The Danish gulfe doth send her succinum ; 4 
And each thus hoped embryon dignifies 

1 Cf. our Ph. Fletcher ; Index of Words, s. v. G. 

2 Onions. G. 

3 Amber, Cf. our Giles Fletcher p 167. G. 

4 Another name for amber, the usual one being elec- 
rum, as above. G. 

TABACC0. 285 

With ofFring of a seu'rall sacrifice. 

The Earth her selfe at last did procreate 

This herbe, composed in despite of Fate, 

And charged eu'ry countrie, and each hill 

A speciall power into this leafe distill, 

Which thus adorn' d, by holy fire inflam'd, 

Sweetelife and breath within the carkasse fram'd; 

And had not Tellus temper'd too much mud, 

Too much terrene corruption in the bud, 

The man that tasted it should neuer die, 

But stand in records of eternitie : 

And as the ashes of the phoenix burn'd, 

Into another liuing bird are turn'd, 

So should the man that takes this sacred fume, 

Another life within himselfe resume : 

So Iolaus 1 when his first was done, 

His second life was of Tabacco spunne. 

Some say for this, Ioue vexed at the heart, 

Did hide it long from the world's better part : 

Hence came, that former ages neuer knew 

The goods that by this seeming weede accrue. 

Till as the Graces trauaill'd through the Earth, 

Giuing to men their gifts of heau'nly mirth, 

At last when they into Americk came, 

1 Iolaus was the only man that euer had two hues. B. 


Drawne by the strange delights, and countrie's 

They in the palace of great Mutezume 1 
"Were entertain' d with this celestiall fume ; 
"When they forgetting all their wonted pleasure 
Imbrac'd with ioy this truest Indian treasure, 
And there remaining did no more respect 
Our petie world, with nought but trifles deckt. 
So the faire Graces, which were wont to sport 
Amid our louing feasts, and sweete resort ; 
Were now secluded from our lucklesse eyes, 
And in their place did braules and quarrels rise ; 
All friendship banisht from false Europe's sight, 
Where flattring lurkt in stead of deare delight, 
Till we, poore soules, in many troubles tost, 
Seeking the Graces which we erst had lost, 
When we had often sought them farre and neere, 
After great paine 2 and trauaile found them there. 

Others doe tell a long and serious tale 
Of a faire nymph that sported in the vale, 
Where Cipo with his siluer streames doth goe 
Along the valleys of Wingandekoe : 3 

1 Mutezume, was king of the West Indies, when 
Cortez first arrived there. B. [Montezuma ? G.] 

2 = painstaking : hence the old words, a painfull 
preacher. G. 

3 Wingandekoe is a countrey in the North part of 
America, called by the Queene, Virginia. B. 


— Which now a farre more glorious name doth 

Since a more beauteous nymph was worshipt 

there — 
There in a greene bowre did this maiden dwell, 
Where pretie waues of a delicious well 
Leapt at her sight, and with a faint rebound 
Bubbled sweete musicke with a daintie sound. 
— This fountaine as a nymph did whilom range, 
Till by her prayers the gods her forme did change, 
When Cipo sought her chastitie's abuse, 
As Alpheus did to virgin Arethuse — 
There dwelt this nymph, which with her feature 

The soueraigne gods, and mortall men inchaunted. 
So full she was of most delightfull grace, 
That by the modell of her beautious face 
Ioue was about to build the heau'n anew, 
And change the azure to a ruddie hew, 
And pull the starrie lights from out the skies, 
Leauing but two in likenes of her eyes : 
But when the Fates so great a change forbade, 
In imitation of her red he made 
A ruddie night before a ioyfull day, 
And by her white he fram'd the milk-white way : 
Her golden threeds were so inchaunting faire, 
Men scorn'd the sunne, to gaze upon her haire ; 


Phoebus asham'd of this, immur'd his beames 
Within the cincture of the Ocean streames : 
"Whereat Ioue angrie, sent swift Mercurie, 
Who to the palace of the Sunne did hie. 
Now the Sunne' s court was glorious to behold, 
Supported with strong pillers of bright gold, 
The top of iu'ry was, the doores of plate, 
Where Vulcan did so liuely imitate 
The heau'n, the earth, the sea, the ayre, the flame, 
That heau'n and earth, and sea enui'd the frame. 
Thither came Hermes, and with lowring cheare 1 
Cited the Sunne in person to appeare 
Before the gods, to tell his cause of stay, 
Why he so long did dallie with the Sea. 
Phoebus obey'd, and when the gods were met, 
And eu'ry one in wonted order set, 
A way was made by the fierce gods of Wane, 
And Pluto brought the pris'ner to the barre. 
Whom Suada 2 , Ioue's sollicitour, accus'd, 

1 Countenance. Mr. Thomas Wright s.v. did not 
seem to know of an example. G. 

2 In Verses by T. Benlowes MA., prefixed to ' Theo- 
phila ' we read : 

" Here heav'n-born Suadas, star-like, gild each dress© 
Of the bride-soul espoused to Happinesse : 
Eere Pietio pcrformes poetick art ; 
As all in all, and all in every part." 



That he his light and vertue had abus'd ; 
That whereas he had sworne by feared Styx, 
When Ioue the seale did to his patent fixe, 
That he would neuer in one place be found, 
But restlesse runne about the massie round : 
This solemn oth he had not duly kept, 
But in the strumpet Thetis' lap had slept. 
Here Ioue did Suads's accusation breake, 
And beckning, gaue Apollo leaue to speake. 
You gods — quoth he — that here as Iudges sit, 
I seeke not to defend my cause by wit ; 
My chiefest plea is speechlesse eloquence, 
Grounded vpon my spotlesse innocence : 
Yet if I pleas' d to winne eternal! glorie, 
By the sweet cadence of mine oratorie, 
I could reuiue the dead, and heale the sick 
By fluence of celestiall Ehetorick : 
The pleasant musick of the heau'nly spheres 
Should pleade my cause to your attentiue eares. 
But with plaine terms shall 1 my iust act be tride 

I add the remaining lines of the stanza for its allusive hit 
to Cartwright's posthumous volume, with its astounding 
collection of ' commendations ' : 

"For all these dy'd not with fam'd Cartwright, though 
A. score of poets joyn'd to have it so." Gr. 

1 1 1 ' inserted here by misprint. G. 


— Who laies 00 colours doth the substance hide — 

I doe not make a night as long as three 

To dallie with my loue in iollitie, 

— And yet I might as well such dalliance proue, 

As loue at Thebes for his Alcmenae's loue — 

~Nov my bright face in liquid teares doe steepe, 

Though my Sonne's fall haue giu'n me cause to 

weep ; 
Eut on the Earth there is a greater light, 
Which with her raies doth equall day and eight. 
Once from my couch I was about to rise, 
But straight this brighter lampe strooke blind mine 

eyes : 
My sister Luna, when the night drew nie, 
Hath been as loth to shew her light as I : 
Nor can our splendent glorious lampes compare 
With her two lamps that farre more glorious are : 
And my Aurora hides her face away 
Sleeping with her Tithonus all the day, 
And when she once beheld this radiant face 
Hath euor since blusht at her ownc disgrace : 
The spheres of planets with a sudden chaunge 
Make her the center of their circled raunge, 
And all the heau'nly orbes doe disagree 
What part should oft'st in her horizon bee ; 
And mortall men colour and light despise, 
Esteeming her the obiect of the eyes ; 


While she — as women be— proud of her honour, 
Makes the night day, that men may gaze vpon 

her : 
Ioue hearing this, dismist the Court in hast, 
And in a sillie 1 shepheard's weedes 2 debas't 
Shrouded with clowdes, downe from the heau'n 

did slide 
And piping sate vpon a mountain e's side : 
— Which Ocean's rolling current ouer-peares, 
Descending from a faire Pastorae's teares, 
"Who now a marble stone, yet weepeth still 
To see her louer changed to a hill, 
Whom iealous Phoebus did by force rem one 
Brooking no riuall in his feruent loue, 
Framing high pines of his inticing locks, 
Changing his teeth to adamantine 3 rocks — 
Thither from heau'n great Ioue did hie apace, 
And sate on the transformed shepheard's face. 
So sweetly sounded his melodious notes, 
That sheepe and shephearcls in their homely cotes 
Daunc't to his layes, and following the sound 
Bid climbe the steepe hill with a solemne round. 4 

1 == Harmless. G. 2 Dress or garb. G-. 

3 Of. our Ph. Fletcher : Index of Words, s.v. : printed 
with a capital here. G. 

4 A kind of dance, described in Sir John Davies' 
" Orchestra/ ' G. 

292 TAB A CCO. 

Among those flocks the beautious nymph did pace, 
Whose snowymeck vied beauties with her face ; 
— Nor would it in so sweete a combat yeeld 
Had not her ample forehead wonne the field — 
And on that pole doth stand the orbe of loue, 
Where Cupid in eccentrick rounds doth moue ; 
And now from her faire eyes his shafts doth dart, 
Then from her lips, and straight from euery part : 
Sweet roseall lips, doores of those sacred places, 
The gorgeous temples of the glorious Graces ; 
Which gates of rubie, when they op'ned were, 
A shrine of pearle and christall did appeare, 
From whence delicious oracles were spoken, 
Which pleasing wonders did to all betoken : 
Nor is the murmure of Cecropian bees, 
Nor songs of birds vpon the ayrie trees, 
Nor the swift riuer falling downe the steepe, 
Lulling poore shepheards with a carelesse sleepe, 
— Where Nature with her melodie amazeth 
The sillie flocke that on the greene bankes grazeth— 
Equiulent 1 with that celestiall sound, 
From whence, they say, Husicke receau'd her 

And first from her did Linus learne to sing, 
And with the sweete touch of a pleasing string 

1 A noticeable use of the now familiar word. G. 


Did imitate the playing of the ayre 
With golden wires of her disheueled haire. 
Her countenance was so angelike bright, 
That the pure starres were blinded at her sight, 
And euer since their lights so dazled were, 
That they were forc't to twinkle in their sphere. 
Her hands were framed like a prettie gin 
Ordaind to catch and hold all pleasure in : 
And eu'ry part a feruent loue did teach, 
Yet she her selfe aboue Loue's wanton reach : 
A coronet she wore all whilome wonne 
Striuing for beautie with the radiant sunne, 
Which mightie Phoebus caus'd the houres to make 
With cunning labour for Leucothoe'e sake : 
This curious worke with Indian pearles was grac't, 
Wherein the loues of gods and men were plac't : 
There Neptune in a pretious margarite 1 
Did woe and winne the beautious Amphitrite : 
There Iphis 2 did in humble sort obey 
The cruell frownes of Anaxcarete ; 
And princes loues in art's affections clad 
ExcelTd the passions they by nature had. 
Thus deckt by Art and Nature did she come, 
Whose features strook the seeming shepheard 

1 Pearl. G. 2 Hercules. B. 

294 TABACC0. 

Nor could his wau'ring thoughts themselues con- 

But now left off, and straightway pip'd againe. 
Sometimes his notes he with shrill tunes did raise 
To chaunt aloud the skipping roundelaies ; 
And then againe his lowly voyce did fall 
To sing a pleasant homely pastorall : 
And eu'ry song to the nymph's honour was 
Like shepheard's musicke to a countrey lasse, 
Lik'ning her eyes unto the glimsing light, 
That guides poore heardsmen to their home at 

night ; 
Her haire vnto the golden flowres that grow 
Along the fragrant bank of siluer Po : 
Her lips to waxe by curious workmanship 
Porm'd as a patterne to each other lip : 
Thus sung he till the blacke and shadie Night 
"With vgly forme did feare away the light, 
And Hesperus, x that stands as euening scout, 
Began to leacle the starrie ring about : 
— Which durst not in her spangled suite appeare, 
As long as mightie Titan's light was neere, 
By reason of some euerlasting iarres 
That did arise 'twixt Phoebus and the starres — 
Then all the shepheards, wearie of the sunne, 

1 Tho ouoning starre. B. 


And glad that the laborious day was done, 
Began to driue their tender flocks away ; 
But Ioue did force this sillie 1 maide to stay, 
Telling her stories how the force of lone 
Had bow'd the hearts of gods that dwelt aboue ; 
How Ioue orecorne by this celestiall power, 
Deceiu'd poore Danae in a golden shower ; 
How with laments and teares Apollo rued 
Faire Daphne's change, when he so fast pursued. 
Hereat she blusht and to depart she stroue ; 
But all in vaine against the force of Ioue. 
This saw the Night, and glad she was to see 
So fit reuenge for the great inuirie 
Whereat Ioue wrong' d her at Alcides' birth. 
Making her watch three daies vpon the earth : 
Therefore in hast the darke malicious Night 
To iealous Iuno doth relate this sight : 
luno enrag'd, with threatning speeches storm' d, 
Which Ioue perceiuing by a vaine embrace 
The infant herbe with heau'nly powers did grace, 
And on the Night he did inflict this paine, 
That while the pleasant Summer, did remaine, 
The lucklesse Night should haue but small com- 
But in the frostie "Winter longest stand. 

1 Simple, innocent, G. 


Yet could not Ioue forget his former loue, 
But ioyning earthly powers, and powers aboue, 
Therewith he did adorne this glorious bud 
And fram'd it as a micro-cosme of good : 
Making the ground where this sweet plant did 

To be a cordiall 'gainst eachnoysome thing, 
Endu'd with force all euils to asswage. 
And now began the famous Golden Age : 
No publike bond of law, no priuate oth 
"Was needfull to the simple faith and troth : 
Each had a censure in his owne consent, 
"Without the feare of death or punishment. 
Nor did the busie client feare his cause, 
Nor in strong brasse did they engraue the lawes ; 
Nor did the doubtfull parties faintly tremble 
While the brib'd Iudge did dreadful looks dissemble : 
Then safe from harme the vaunting pine did stand, 
And had no triall of the shipwright's hand, 
But stood ypon the hill where first it grew 
Nor yet was forc'd another world to view : 
Nor vnto greedie merchants yet were knowne 
The shores of any land beyond their owne : 
Eu'ry defencelesse citie then was sure, 
Nor could deepe ditches make it more secure. 
The harmlesse thoughts of that blest age did beare 
No warlike trumpets, cornet, sword or speare ; 


No furious souldier needed to defend 

The carelesse folke which quiet Hues did spend ; 

Nor did ambitious captaines know the way 

To passe the cliffie shores of their owne sea : 

The earth yet free from any forcd abuse 

Brought forth all things fit for each creature's vse, 

"Without the helpe of any humane care, 

Yntoucht by harrow, and vncut by share ; 

And mortal! men vpon those meates did feede 

"Which of themselues did from the Earth proceede. 

The mountaine strawberie and bitter sloe, 

And mulberies, which on rough boughs doe grow, 

And homely akornes, which did whilome fall 

Prom the high trees, which Ioue his owne doth call : 

The pleasant yeare was an eternall Spring, 

Where Westerne winds continuall fLowres did bring. 

The fertile Earth vnmanur'd and vntil'd, 

The bounteous gift of plenteous corne did ye eld : 

Now 1 did the field renew' d each seuerall yeere 

Make windy sounds with many a waightie eare. 

Brookes did with milke, and pleasant nectar goe, 

And yellow hony from the trees did flow : 

Al good without constraint, heau'n, sea, men, 

No gold, no ship, no law, no plough, no bound, 
Till Proserpine by this abused flame 

1 Misprinted, nor. G. 

298 TAB AC CO. 

— Striuing to purchase an immortall name — 

Reueng'd with raging fire her ancient spite 

On Tellus and the scornefull Amphitrite ; l 

— Which oft had mockt her mansion place of Hell, 

And call'd it darksome hole and duskie cell — 

Therefore the Furies she in hast commands 

To burne the fruitful! Earth with fierie brands, 

And when their hands such instruments did want, 

She made them torches of the sacred plant ; 

By which she fir'd the world, and that once done, 

About the Earth in raging sort they runne, 

And euer since they by these flames did cause 

Famine, dissention, plagues, and breach of lawes. 

— Yet was the hellish queene with feare distract, 

Least Ioue should know and punish the foule fact : 

Therefore she hir'd the poets long agone, 

To cast the fault upon poore Phaeton. — 

Now when this honour'd herb was once abus'd, 

All paines, all plagues were on the world infus'd, 

And then the wicked Iron Age began ; 

Shame, truth and faith from earthly mansions ran, 

And in their place came fraud and cloked vice, 

Treason and force, and impious auarice. 

The mariner whom hope of lucre blinds 

Hasts to the sea, vnexpert in the winds, 

1 The goddesse of the aea. B. 

TABACC0. 299 

And trees that long had stood on mountaines high, 
As ships ypon the vncouth waues doe lie : 
The merchant then the boistrons sea did plow, 
Spite of the frowne of Neptune's angrie brow ; 
Nor conld the horronr of one iourneye's paine 
Peare greeclie thoughts from ventring so againe. 
Neptune then grieued with the wounds and dints 
Which in his face this curious worke emprints : 
—And mpu'd with Cybel's 1 outcries, which did 

To see her hils defac'd and pines puld downe, 
And Nature's plaints, whose lawes ithadbeguil'd — 
Made the sea stormie, which before was mild : 
Since which the ribs of broken ships doe show 
What hurts and dangers by this engine grow ; 
Which makes each fertile countrie want the more 
Ey seeming steward of each countrie' s store. 
Now did the warie reaper with long bounds 
Deuide to portions the vnited grounds, 
Which erst were common to each mortall wight 
As is the liquid ayre or pleasant light : 
Nor did they onely take the needfull corne, 
And daily food which from the Earth was borne, 
Eut to the bowels of their mother sought, 
And cursed riches from the center brought, 

1 The GJ-oddesse to whom the pine is dedicated. B. 

300 ' TABACCO. 

And neere vnto the Stygian waues did hide. 
First then began the phrases, mine and thine : 
Pure water tum'd to artificiall wine : 
Which the wise Earth had couer'd vnespide, 
Pleasure vnknowne, and more then simple mirth 
Start vp with gold from out the mangled Earth. 
The bounds, then contracts at a racking price, 
And from thosebounds spring boundlesse auarice : l 
Then hurtfull Steele the workman's hand did feele 
And gold, more hurtfull then the hurtfull Steele. 
And when both these were comen to perfect 

Prom thence came Warre, that fights with help of 

Then did the souldier, which in battell stands 
Shake glittring weapons with his bloodie hands : 
All liu'd by wrong : each friend did [daily] feare, 
And brethren seldome linkt in friendship were. 
The husband seekes the death of his owne wife, 
And she againe grieves at her husband's life. 
The angrie stepdames, fearefull poysons make, 
"Which their new husband's [ailing] child may take ; 
And the sonne, wearie of his father's stay, 
Longs for his death before his fatall day ; 
White Pictie's dispersed reliques lie 
Conquer'd, and spoil' d of earthly dignitie. 

1 Qu:= bonds? G. 


And then Astraea, 1 last of heau'nly powers 

Forsooke the Earth reeking with bloodie showers. 

Yet was not Vice ascended to the height : 

Yet might our pond'rous soules endure the weight 

Of our corrupted flesh : yet might we say 

The growth of Sinne's perfection wants a day ; 

Till the fierce giants of Viperean birth 

Made loftie Heau'n no more secure then Earth, 

Seeking Ioue's kingdomeby presumptuous Warres, 

Building high mount aines to the trembling starres. 

But Ioue the hils did from Olympus tosse, 

And cast great Pelion from the top of Osse : 2 

And when the furious giants thus were kild 

By the great weight which their own hands did 

The Earth gaue life vnto her children's blood, 
And fram'd them liuing bodies of her mud ; 
And — least no signe should of his stocke remaine — 
She chang'd them to the formes of men againe, 
"Who, not degenerate from their bloodie birth, 
Defi'd the heauen, and defild the Earth. 
Then first ambitious mortals gan to rise, 
And with vaine pride did the great gods despise : 

1 Justice. B. 

2 Cf. our Ph. Fletcher, Vol. n., pp. 185-6, note 6. G. 


Still warr'd they with the gods, still had the 

And when their hands could do no more, they 

Nor could the flood that inward spot deface ; 
Still it continued in the humane race, 
Creeping vnseene, subiecting eu'ry part, 
Till it possest our chiefest towne, our hart ; 
Which thus infected did a battell wage 
'Gainst the remainders of the Golden Age. 
Then cursed Ate 1 first began her raigne, 
And plac't her throne vpon the fluent maine, 
Joying to see the billowes in their pride 
Tosse totterd ships with perill on each side ; 
Yet sorie Neptune should so largely sup, 
And glad againe, when ought he vomits vp. 
By her hath eu'ry thing corrupted beene 
Prom the Earth's center to the heau'nly queene ; 
— Which stands aboue the reach of earthly feares, 
The lowest of the pure celestiall spheres. — 
The fertile Earth corrupted by these seedes 
Brought forth vn wholesome plants and fruitlesse 

weeds : 
The Water, not content with her owne bounds, 
Ysurpt vpon the neere adiacent grounds : 

1 Goddesso of wrath and despite. B. 


The Ayre infected did infect the breath, 
Prom whence arose the instruments of death : 
The Fire so hid her selfe, that none could see 
"Where her abode or proper place should bee : 
Then sicknesse came on the infected Earth ; 
Some fell in youth, some perisht in their birth ; 
And whereas mortals neuer died before, 
Till spent with age their lights could burne no more ? 
Now fathers' eyes were made a watrie sourse 
To wash their sonnes' graues in prepost'rous 1 

And had not the immortall gocls at last, 
Pitying the sorrowes sillie men had past, 
Cherisht poore soules with their eternall loue, 
And sent Apollo Pcean from aboue 
To crosse the purpose that the hag intended, 
Long since her malice all the world had ended : 
Yet could not carefull Phoebus quite deface 
The yenome Ate on the Earth did place, 
Till Aesculapius, great Apolloe's sonne : 
— Envying the glorie, shepheard Pan had wonne, 
When of his loue transform' d he did inuent 
The pleasure of a musicke instrument — 
Descri'd this herbe to our new Golden Age, 
And did deuise a pipe, which should asswage 
The wounds which sorrow in our hearts did fixe 

1 Inverted. G. 


More then the sound of flutes, and fiddle-sticks : 
And by the force thereof — as Poets faine — 
Brought torne Hippolytus to life againe, 
And watchmen set, and them Phisitians call'd: 
Men, whom the Muses had before enstall'd, 
Whose carefull soules were by this potion fir'd 
And by the power of this sweete herb inspired ; 
"Which by the vertue of their sacred hands 
Deliuer'd men from death and sicknes' bands. 

Others affirme the gods were ignorant 
Of the confection of so sweet a plant ; 
For had they knowne this smoke's delicious smack 
The vault of heau'n ere this time had been black, 
And by the operation of this fume 
Been purg'd for euer of her clowdie rheume. 
Daintie ambrosia with a loth'd disdaine 
Had been made meate for each milk-pottage braine : 
Ioue's Ganymede had neuer smelt of drinke 
The heau'nly Mazers 1 flowing ore the brinke, 
'Not fixen 2 Iuno euer broke his head 
For spilling nectar on the gorgeous bed : 
Gods would haue reuel'd at their feasts of mirth 
With the pure distillation of the Earth : 
The marrow of the world, starre of the West, 

1 Cf. Job xxxviii., 32. G. 

2 Vixen. G. 


The pearle, whereby this lower orbe is blest, 
The ioy of mortals, vmpire of all strife, 
Delight of nature, Mithriclate of life, 
The daintiest dish of a delicious feast, 
By taking which man differs from a beast. 
Thrice happie Isles, which steale the world's 

delight, -^^_ — 

And doe produce so rich a Margarite ! 

Had but the old heroick spirits knowne 

The newes, which Tame vnto our eares hath blowne, 

Colchis, and the remote Hesperides 

Had not been sought for halfe so much as these ; 

Nor had the fluent wits of ancient Greece 

Prais'd the rich apples, or the Golden Fleece ; 

Nor had Apolloe's garland been of bayes, 

Nor Homer writ of sweet e Nepenthe's 2 praise : 

Nor had Anacreon with a sugred glose 

Extold the vertues of the fragrant rose ; 

Nor needed Hermes with his fluent tongue 

Haue ioin'd in one a rude vnciuill throng, 

And by perswasions made that companie 

An order' d politike societie, 

When this dumbe oratour would more perswade 

1 Vixen. G. 

2 Nepenthes signifieth a drink to take away sorrow or 
care. B. 


Then all the speeches Mercurie had made ; 

Nor honour' d Ceres been create diuine, 

And worshipt so at curious Eleusine, 

Whom blinder ages did so much adorne 

For the inuention of the vse of corne : 

.Nor Saturne's feast had been the ioyfull day 

Wherein the Romanes washt their cares away : 

But in the honour of great Trinidade 

A new Tobacconalia had been made : 

Had watrie Neptune knowne the force of this, 

He had preuail'd, and Athens had been his ; 

His gift the oliue would as farre exceed 

As Pallas' gift excell'd his trampling steed : 

Tmmortall Chiron, had he knowne this leafe 

- — Hurt by an arrow from Alcides' sheaf e — 

Had neuer wisht the troden mortall way, 

But might haue well been cur'd, and liu'd for aye. 

Had foule Thersites, with his spitefull hart, 

Crook' d in each inward, and each outward part 

By this elixir been but once refin'd, 

He would haue chang'd his bodie, and his mind : 

Or had the bees that Platoe's lips did grace 

Suckt hony from this sweete Tabacco-place, 

He had surpast, and stain' d himself as farre 

As others by his stile obscured are. 

With this had Circe in her pleasant caue 

Temper'd the potion she Ylysses gaue, 

TAB A CCO. 307 

He neuer would haue wisht, that his blest eyes 
Might once behold his coun trie's smoke arise. 
Had ancient Heralds knowne this sacred plant, 
Of which their lucklesse age was ignorant, 
When they did gine the world's most worthie 

As glorious ensignes to victorious kings : 
Tabacco had been richer armorie 
Then Lions, Crosses, or spread Eaglets be : 
Hid the French Druids 1 Hue, and were obey'd, 
Mcot — that first this herbe to France convey' d— 
Should be the god of pleasures and delights, 
Worshipt with pompe on Bacchanalian nights, 
And in his praise the barb'rous priests would sing 
Yntuned numbers in a iarring string, 
Caruing harsh rimes on eu'ry knottie tree, 
More crookt and rugged then the booke could bee, 
Sounding in eu'ry homely verse they frame 
The treble accent of god Mcot's name. 
Had the sage Chaldees which did name the stars, 
And were the first, and best Astronomers, 
Seene the great wonders which our eyes haue seene, 
This plant had then a constellation beene. 2 

1 The Druids were priests, much reuerenced among the 
sauage Britaines and Frenchmen. B. 

2 Cf. our Sir John Davies Vol. I pp 336—329 and 
461 for curious Lines on Tobacco. G. 


Nor had the honour' d Eamme begun the yeare 
Nor the high Northerne pole adorn 'd the Beare, 
Nor Ioue disgrac'd, nor with his minions fild 
Th' engranen vault, which first his hands did 

Our herbe had been a planet, and indu'd 
With light aboue the greatest magnitude : 
And when this starre had stood in good aspect, 
With happie planets of the best effect, 
He, whom the proud world then to light should 

Had been a Poet, or at least a King : 
Saturne had neuer brag'd his chariot went 
The next vnto the azure firmament, 
Nor had the sunne in his maiestick pride 
Been thron'd with equall planets on each side, 
Nor for high births had the Astrologer 
Markt the coniunction of great Pupiter. 
Were my quaint polisht tongue my soule's best 

And grac't with figures, colours, schemes and tropes, 
This herbe would [far] surpasse in excellence 
The great' st hyperboles of eloquence. 
Yet this sweete simple of misordrcd vse 
Death or some dang'rous sicknesse may induce ; 
Should we not for our sustentation eate, 
Because a surfet comes from too much meate ? 


Should we not thirst, with mod' rate drinke represse, 

"Because a dropsie springs from such excesse ? 

Should we not take some holesome exercise, 

To chafe our vaines and stretch our arteries, 

Because abus'd in a laborious kind, 

It hurts the bodie and .amates 1 the mind ? 

So our faire plant, that doth so needfull stand 

As heau'n, or fire, or aire, or sea, or land, 

As moone, or starres, that rule the gloomie night, 

Or Tullie's friendship, or the sunnie light : 

Her sacred vertue in her selfe enroules, 

And leaues the euil in vain-glorious soules : 

And yet who dyes cloid with celestiall breath, 

Shall dye with ioy a Diagorian death 2 

All goods, all pleasures it in one doth linke, 

'Tis phisick, clothing, musick, meate and drinke. 

It makes the hungry soules forget their wants, 

And nimbly daunce like skipping Corybants. 3 

By force of this, Timon that odious beast, 

"Would haue turn'd iester at each solemne feast, 

And by one draught of this Americk grape 

Haue been Laberius' or Sarmentus' ape : 

1 Daunts, dismays : here = weakens (?) G. 

2 Diagoras died for ioy. B. 

3 Cybel's priests that daunced much, in their sacri- 
fice. B. 


Nor would the Cynick 1 in his hourely tunne 
Haue askt the shining of the gen' rail sunne : 
But had he then this herbe's great vertues knowne, 
He would haue beg'd it of the Macedone. 2 
The Faunes and Satyres, which doe lightly praunce 
The beasts that after Orpheus' musick daunce, 
At sight of this would haue forgot the sound, 
The ecchoes would no more the voice rebound, 
Orpheus himselfe would haue forsook his lute, 
And altogether stood auiaz'd and mute. 
The lumpish Stoicks, which did thus decree 
A mortall man might without passion bee, 
Had they once cast their carelesse eyes on this, 
"Would soone haue shown what humane nature is. 
The Epicureans, whose chief e good was plac't 
In earthly pleasures' vaine voluptuous tast, 
Had our Tabacco in their daies been found 
Had built their frame on a more likely ground. 
Pyrrho, that held all by opinion stood, 
Would haue affirm' d this were by nature good. 
The rude Laconians, with Lycurgus' care 
Barr'd from the traffick of exotick ware, 
Had Malea 3 been with such a treasure fraught 
Would haue esteem' d their strictest acts at nought, 

l Diogenes. B. 2 Alexander. B. 

3 A Haucn nere Sparta among the Lacaedemoniana. B. 

tabacco. 311 

And with a slight pretence or fained cause, 
Haue crackt the credit of their cobweb lawes, 
When eloquent Hegcsias cans' d men die 
With disputation of Hue's miserie, 
Had this life-giuing pleasant potion then 
Been once imparted to those desp'rate men, 
It would haue sooner forced them to liue, 
Then the commaunds great Ptolmie could giue ; 
Had Phoebus, Hyacinth, or faire Narcissus, 
Yenus, Adonis, or sweete Cyparissus 
By the propitious gods haue turn'd to this, 
Happie had been their Metamorphosis : 
Yet it may be, to this they were not turn'd 
Because their louers grieu'd to see them burn'd. 
This is the Opium which the Turks doe take, 
When they their hearts would light and iocund 

By this Medea did her drinke compose, 
Which Aeson did from aged bonds vnlose. 
You finde not a diuiner herbe then this 
In all Albertus de miraculis, 
Or the huge Herbals which vaine fooles obey, 
In Porta, 1 Fuschsius, 2 and great Dodoney : 3 

1 I. Baptista Porta wrote Phytognomonica. Neapol. 
1588. He lived circ. 1545—1615. G. 

2 Leonhard Fuschius, professor of Anatomy at Tubin- 
gen : born 1501, died 1566. Wrote De Historia Stirpium 

3 1 2 TABAC'CO. 

In it phisitians haue no skill at all, 

It is an essence metaphysicall, 

.Nor is a thing so exquisite, so pure 

Compos'd of only common temp'rature, 

Nor can the Scepticks 1 or Empiricks see 

This herb's great vertue, nature, and degree. 

Who takes this med'cine need not greatly care 

Who Galenists, who Paracelsians are : 

Nor need he seeke their Rosaries, their Summes, 

Their Secrets, their Dispensatoriums ; 

Nor till his pocket with their costly bils, 

Nor stuffe his maw with their vnsau'ry pils ; 

Nor make huge pitfals in his tender vaines, 

With thousand other more then hellish paines, 

But by this herbe's celestiall qualitie 

May keepe his health in mirth and iollitie. 

It is the fountaine whence all pleasure springs, 

Commentarii : Basil. 1542. The well-known garden- 
plant, the 4 Fuschia ' is named after him. G. 

3 Dodoney, is llembertus Dodonaeus — 1518 — 1585 — of 
Mechlin : physician to the Emperor Maximilian II, and 
professor of medicine at Leydon. His ' Herbal ' was 
translated into English by Henry Lyte, and went through 
several editions. The dedication to Queen Elizabeth is 
dated 1578. G. 

Scepticks arc those Phisitians which doale by 
ihing into nature, but Empiricks "by experience 

TABACCO. 3 1 3 

A potion for imperial crowned kings : 

He that is master of so rich a store 

May laugh at Croesus, and esteeme him poore< 

And with his smokie scepter in his fist 

Securely flout the toyling Alchymist, 

Who daily labours with a vaine expence 

In distillations of the quint-essence, 

Not knowing that this golden herbe alone 

Is the philosopher's admired stone. 

It is your gallant's med'cine singular, 

As possets to the wearied ploughmen are : 

Alcinous' 1 trees nor the Isles Fortunate 

Cannot afford so sweet a delicate : 

Teucer had purg'd his cares with wine, 

Had he but dream't of physick so divine ; 

Nor Bacchus had been patron of delight, 

Nor gouern'd with his princely might, 

Nor conquer' d all the nations of the Earth, 

Because he tam'd their sauage minds with mirth: 

Nor had MercurialP or herbe Gentiane 

The glorious names of gods or princes tune : 

Moly, of which the prince of Poet's 3 wrote 

1 The king of the PhaDacians, whose orchard Homer 
describes. B. 

2 Mercurial or Merouria ; Gentiane of Gentius, king 
of Illyricum. B, 

3 Homer. B, 

314 TABiCCO. 

Spaine's Triacle, 1 or the strongest antidote, 2 

Is not so good against the magicke spell, 

Nor deadly poyson from th' heart V expell 

As our more glorious plant, which had it beene 

In ancient times, and famous ages seene, 

The fruitfull Oliue, and sweet- smelling Bayes, 

Had neuer been the signes bf peace and praise : 

Long since the blessed Thistle and Herbe-grace 

Had lost their names, and been accounted base, 

Had great Tabacco pleas' d to shew her powers, 

As now she doth in this blest age of ours. 

Blest age, wherein the Indian sunne had shin'd, 

Whereby all Arts, all tongues haue been refin'd : 

Learning, long buried in the darke abysme 

Of dunsticall 3 and monkish barbarisme, 

When once the herbe by carefull paines was found, 

Sprung vp like Cadmus' followers from the ground, 

Which Muses visitation bindeth vs 

More to great Cortes, and Vespucius, 4 

Then to our wittie More's 5 immortall name, 

1 Treacle. G. 

2 Antidote is a remedie against poyson. B. 

3 Stupid — albeit the commentators only, not Duns 
Scotus himself, justify the word. Gr. 

4 Cortez and Vespucius were two that helpt especially 
to the true knowledge of America. B. 

5 Sir Thomas More. For his Epigram on Tabacco 


To Valla, or the learned Rott' rodame 1 
And our poore tongue, which long had barren laine, 
"Wanting the fall of sweete Parnassian raine, 
Was lightned by this planet's radiant beanies, 
Which, rising from the Westerne ocean streames, 
Melting the drie cloudes to celestiall showres, 
And on our heads those heau'nly fountainespowres. 
Had the Castalian Mm e 3 knowne the place 
Which this Ambrosia did with honour grace, 
They would have left Parnassus long agoe, 
And chang'd their Phocis for Wingandekoe ; 
Yet it may be, the people voide of sense 
With sauage rites and manners fear'd them thence ; 
But our more glorious Nymph, our moderne Muse 
Which life and light doth to the North infuse, 
Which doth with ioynt and mutuall honour grace 
Her place with learning, learning with her place, 
In whose respect the Muses barb'rous are, 
The Graces rude, nor is the phoenix rare ; 
Which Faire exceedes her predecessours facts, 
Nor are her wondrous acts, now wondrous acts ; 
Which by her wisdome, and her princely powers 
Defends the walles of Albion's clime towres, 

from his ' Lucubrationes ' (1563) see our Sir John Dayies, 
Vol. i., p. 336. G. 
1 Erasmus. G. 

316 T ABA CCO. 

Hath vncontrol'cl stretcht out her mightie hand 
Ouer Virginia and the New-found-land, 
And spread the colours of our English Rose 
In the far countries where Tabacco growes, 
And tam'd the sauage nations of the West, 
Which of this iewell were in vaine possest. 
Nor is it maruaile that this pretious gem 
Is thus beset with beasts, and kept by them, 
When it is likely that Almightie Ioue 
By such fierce keepers to obscure it stroue, 
Bearing against it an immortall hate, 
As the gainsayer of eternal! fate : 
Beside a thousand dangers circle round 
Whateuer good within this world is found, 
Least mortals should no worke, nor trade prof esse, 
But spend their daies in lust and idlenesse : 
And least their fickle thoughts should soone dis- 

The things they get but with a little paine : 
Therefore best fruites are couer'd with hard shels, 
The sweetest water is in deepest wels, 
And Indian ants as big as mastiues hold 
A place more fertile of desired gold. 
Sicilc the garner of the Earth, her pride, 
Hath Scylla and Charybdis on each side. 
And in times past had a plague worse then these, 


Of the fierce Cyclops and Loestrygones/ 
The horricle Dragon, which did nener sleepe, 
The Orchard of the golden fruite did keepe ; 
And in the countries which be hot and drie 
The dreadfull beasts about the fountaines lie, 
And Grotthish Spaniards haue the royaltie 
Where glorious gold, and rich Tabacco be : 
A nation worse than the Loestrygones, 
And farre more sauage then the Sauages. 
Yet doth not this diuine Tabacco soile, 
Which shines like a bright diamond in a foile, 
And doth as farre excell the golden graines, 
As gold the brasse, or siluer, pewter staines : 
Although the Chymists say, our mother beares 
Gold in her wombe so many thousand yeares, 
Ere she can perfect what she hath begunne, 
And bring to full growth that terrestiall sunne ; 
And though the Thebian lyrick 2 crown' d with 

Begins his Odes with that sweet mettal's praise, 
Yet couuteruailes it not this herb's desart, 
But only shares a younger brother's part ; 
For this our praised plant on high doth sore, 
Aboue the baser drosse of earthly ore, 

1 Fierce people dwelling neare Sicelie, of whom Homer 
speakes. B. 

2 Pindarus. B. 


Like the braue spirit and ambitious mind, 
Whose eaglet's eyes the sunnebeames cannot blind ; 
Nor can the clog of pouerty depresse 
Such soules in base and natiue lowlinesse, 
But proudly scorning to behold the Earth, 
They leape at crownes, and reach aboue their birth : 
Despised mud sinkes to the center straight, 
But worthie things will striue to get on height : 
So our sweete herbe all earthly drosse doth hate, 
Though in the Earth both nourisht, and create, 
And as the nature is of smoke, and fire, 
Leaues this low orbe, and labours to aspire 
Wrapt in the cincture of her smokie shroudes, 
Mixing her vapours with the ayrie cloudes ; 
And from these fumes, ascending to the skies, 
Some say the dewes and gentle showres arise, 
And from the fire thereof the Cyclops stroue 
To frame the mightie thunderbolts of Ioue. 
This is a sauour which the gods doth please, 
If they doe feed on smoke — as Lucian sayes — 
Therefore the cause that the bright sunne doth rest 
At the low point of the declining West, 
When his oft- wearied horses breathlesse pant, 
Is to refresh himselfe with this sweet plant, 
Which wanton Thetis from the West doth bring 
To ioy her loue after his toilesome ring : 
Eor 'tis a cordiall for an inward smart, 

TABACC0. 319 

As is Dictamnum 1 to the wounded hart : 
It is the sponge that wipes out all our woe ; 
'Tis like the thorne that doth on Pelion grow, 
With which who ere his frostie limbes anoints 
Shall feele no cold in his benummed ioints ; 
'Tis like the riuer, which who ere doth tast 
Forgets his present griefes and sorrowes past : 
Musick, which causeth vexed thoughts retire, 
And for a while cease their tormenting fire ; 
Musick, the prize, which when the eares haue stole 
They doe convey it to th' attentiue soule ; 
Musick, which forceth beasts to stand at gaze, 
And doth the rude and senselesse soules amaze, 
Compar'd to this is like delicious strings, 
Which sound but harshly while Apollo sings. 
The braine with this infura'd all quarrell ends 
Tullie and Clodius will be faithfull friends, 
And like another Crassus, 2 one carouse 
Will linke againe Pompey and Caesar's house, 
And quickly stint the inhumane designes 
Of furious Gruelphes and warlike Gibellines. 3 

1 The plant dittany, which grew in great abundance 
on Mount Dicte ■ and Mount Ida. (Virgil, Aeneid 12. 
412 : Cicero, Nat. Deorum, 2. 50, 126) G. 

2 Crassus was the onely bond (while he liued) of 
Caesar and Pompeye's friendship. B. 

3 Guelphes and Gibellines were a mightie faction in 
Italic B, 


The man that shall this smoke magick proue, 
Shall need no philters 1 to obtain his loue, 
But shall be deckt with farre more pleasing grace 
Then ere was Mreus or Narcissus face. 
Here could I tell you how vpon the seas 
Some men haue fasted with it fortie dales : 
How those, to whom Plinie no mouthes did giue 2 
Doe onely on diuine Tabacco Hue : 
How Andron, which did passe the Lybian sands 
Ynto the place where Hammon's Temple stands, 
And neuer dranke, nor was he euer dry, 
Supprest the heate of raging thirst thereby : 
How a dull Cynick, by the force of it 
Hath got a pleasing gesture and good wit : 
How sparing Demea 3 whom the Comick chaung'd 
By this was from his former selfe estraung'd : 
How many cowards, base and recreant 
By one pipe's draught were turned valiant, 
And after in an artificiall mist 
Haue ouerthrowne their foes before they wist : 
How one that dreamt of a Tabacca roll, 
Though sick before, was straight made perfect 

1 Philters bo charmcs to obtain© loue. B. 

2 Astomi. Sec our Sibbes, s.v. G. 

3 One of the characters in the Adelphi of Terence. G. 


Peace, pratling Muse, offend sage eares no more, 
Die in the seas which canst not get the shore, 
And sinke, as ouerwhelin'd with too much matter, 
Least telling, all the world should thinke thee 

Doe not, like curious Plinie, 1 seeke to know 
"Whence the Earth's smoke and secret flames do 

Least this immortall fire, and sacred fume 
Like to Yesuuius doe thy powers consume ; 
But clok'd with vapours of a duskie hue, 
Bid both the world and thy sweet herb, Adue. 

'lejmevos leal tcairvov airoOpuoKOv-a vorjaai. 2 

1 Plinie was burnt searching to know from whence 
the fire of the hill Vesuuius did rise. B 

2 Homer: Od. i, 58. G. 

The literature of Tobacco is much, more extensive and 
singular than is generally known. It is a wonder that a 
Timbs has not been found to make it the object of a book. 
Having a spare corner here, I add an Epigram from John 
Heath's "Two Centuries of Epigrammes " (1610) : 


We buy the driest wood that we can finde, 
And willingly would leave the smoke behind : 
But in Tobacco, a thwart course we take, 
Buying the hearb onely for the smoke's sake. 

[2nd Cent., Ep. 92.] G. 





Agreeably to our Memorial-Introduction and foot- 
notes (pp. 4, 12, &c.) I give as an Appendix, two additional 
poems by the son and heir of our "Worthy — relatively 
rather than intrinsically, of value. The first poem, in 
memory of Ben Jonson is of the more interest from Jon- 
son's striking Lines prefixed to the volume of 1629 (See 
pp 15-16 ante) : and the second reminds us that it appeared 
in the same volume with Milton's * Lycidas .' G. 


fioems oi Sir John ftzmmord, fei., 



ID this bin for some meaner poet's hearse, 
I might have then observ'd the lawes of 
verse : 

But here they faile, nor can I hope t'expresse 
In numbers, what the world grants numberlesse ; 
Such are the truths, we ought to speake of thee, 
Thou great refiner of our Poesie ; 

1 From ' Jonsonus Yirbius ' 1638 : pages 11 — 13. G. 


Who turn'st to gold that which before was lead, 
Then with that pure elixar rais'd the dead. 
[Nine sisters who — for all the poets lyes — 
Had bin deem'd mortall, did not Johnson rise 
And with celestiall sparkes — not stolne — revive 
Those who could erst keep winged Fame alive : 
T'was he that found — plac't — in the seat of wit, 
Dull grinning Ignorance, and banish' t it ; 
He on the prostituted stage appeares 
To make men heare, not by their eyes, but eares ; 
Who painted Vertues, that each one might know, 
And point the man, that did such treasure owe : 
So that who could in Johnson's lines be high, 
Needed sot honours, or a ribbon buy : 
But Vice he onely shew'd us in a glasse, 
Which by reflection of those rayes that passe, 
Eetaines the figure lively, set before, 
And that withdrawne, reflects at us no more ; 
So, he observed the like decorum, when 
He whipt the vices, and yet spar'd the men ; 
When heretofore, the Vice's onely note, 
And signe from Vertue was his party-coate, 
When devils were the last men on the stage, 
And pray'd for plenty and the present age ; 
Nor was our English language, onely bound 
To thanke him lor the Latin Horace found 


— 'Who so inspir'd Rome, with his lyricke song, — 
Translated in the ITacaronicke toung, 
Cloth' d in such raggs as one might safely vow, 
That his AEcecenas would not owne him now ; 
On him he tooke this pitty, as to cloth 
In words, and such expression, as for both, 
Ther's none but judgeth the exchange will come 
To twenty more, then when he sold at Eome. 
Since then, he made our language pure and good, 
And to us speake, but what we understood ; 
We owe this praise to him, that should we joyne 
To pay him, he were paid but with the coyne 
Himselfe hath minted ; which we know by this 
That no words passe for currant now, but his ; 
Aucl though he in a blinder age could change 
Faults to perfections, yet 'twas far more strange 
To see — how ever times, and fashions frame — 
His wit and language still remaine the same 
In all men's mouths ; grave preachers did it use 
As golden pills, by which they might infuse 
Their heavenly phisicke ; ministers of State 
Their grave dispatches in his language wrate ; 
Ladies made curt'sies in them, Courtiers, legs, 
Physicians bills ; perhaps some Pedant begs 
He may not use it, for he heares 'tis such, 
As in few words, a man may utter much. 


Could I have spoken in his language too, 
I had not said so much, as now I doe, 
To whose cleare memory, I this tribute send 
Who dead's my wonder, living was my friend. 



DOM. 1638." [pp 4—8.] 

KEN first this news, rough as the sea 
Erom whence it came, began to be 
Sigh'd out by Eame, and generall tears 

Drown' d him again, my stupid fears 

Would not awake ; but fostering still 

The calm opinions of my will, 

I said, the sea, though with disdain, 

It proudly fomes, does still remain 

A slave to Him, Who never wrought 

This piece so fair, to wash it out. 

I check' t that Fame, and told her how 

I knew her trade, and her ; nay though 

Her honest tongue had given before 

A faithfull echo, yet his store 

Of grand deserts, which did prepare 


For En vie' s tooth such dainty fare, 
"Would tempt her now to fain his fate 
And then her lie for truth relate. 

But when mature relation grew 
Too strong for doubts, and still the new 
Spake in the same disasterous grone 
With all the old ; my hopes alone 
Could not sustain the double shock 
Of these reports and of the rock : 
And when the truth, the first — alas ! — 
That e're to me deformed was, 
Escap'd the sea, and ougly-fair 
Did shine in our beloved aire ; 
At length too soon my losse I found, 
Him and my hopes together drown' d, 
Oh ! why was he — be quiet tears ! — 
Complete in all things, but in yeares ? 
Why did his proper goodnesse grace 
The generous lustre of his race ? 
Why were his budding times so swell' d 
W r ith many fruites which parallel' d 
Their mutuall beauteous selves alone, 
In Yertue's best reflection? 
As when th' Hesperian living gold 
With priviledg'd power itself did mould 
Into the apples, whose divine 
And wealthy beames could onely shine 



"With equall splendour in the graces 
Of their brethren's answering faces. 
Why did his youth it self allot 
To purchase that it needed not ? 
Why did Perfection seek for parts ? 
Why did his nature grace the Arts ? 
Why strove he both the worlds to know, 
Tet alwayes scorn' d the world below ? 
Why did his brain a centre be 
To Learning's circularitic, 
Which, though the vastest arts did nil 
Would like a point seem little still ? 

Why did Discretion's constant hand 
Direct both his ? why did he stand 
Fixt in himself, and those intents 
Deliberate Reason's help presents? 
Why did his well immured mind 
Such strength in resolution find, 
That still his pure and loyall heart 
Did in its panting bear no part 
Of trembling fear ; but having wrought 
Eternall peace with every thought, 
Could with the shipwracke-losse abide 
The splitting of the world beside ? 
The universall axle so 
Still boldly stands, and lets not go 
The hold it fastens on the pole, 


Though all the heavens about it roll, 

"Why would his true discerning eye 
His neighbour's excellencies spie, 
And love those shadows his own worth 
Had upon others darted forth ? 
Whom he with double love intends 
Pirst to make good, and then his friends. 
Why did he with his hony bring, 
The med'cine of a faithiull sting, 
And to his friend when need did move 
"Would cease his praise but not his love ? 
Why made his life confession, 
That he more mothers had then one ? 
Why did his duty tread their way 
His generall Parent to obey, 
Whil'st in a meet and cheerful fear, 
His whole subjection he did square 
With those pure rules, whose load so light 
Confesse a mother did them write ? 
Why did his whole self now begin 
With vertuous violence to win 
Admiring eyes ? Why pleased he 
All but his own sweet modestie ? * 

Why gave his noble worth such ground 
Whereon our proudest hopes might found 
Their choicest promises ; and he 
Be Expectation's treasuiie ? 


why was Justice made so blind ? 

why was heaven it self so kind, 

And rocks so fierce ? why were we 

Thus partly blest ? why was he ? 

Whil'st thus the senselesse murmure broke 

From grieving lips, which would have spoke 

Some longer grones, a sudden noise 

Surpriz'd my soul ; which by that voice 

Hath lea in' d to quiet her self, and all 

Her questions into question call. 

She saw his soul too mighty grow, 

To be imprison' d thus below . 

And his intelligence fitted here, 

As if intended for a sphere. 

His spirits which meekly soar'd so high, 

Grew good betimes, betimes to die. 

And when in heaven there did befall 

Some speciall businesse which did call 

For present counsel, he with speed 

"Was sent for up. "When heaven has need, 

Let our relenting wills give way, 

And teach our comfort thus to say ; 
Our ^arth hath bred celestiall flowers : 
What heaven did covet, once was ours. 

J. Beaumont. 



On re-reading the completed sheets I am thankful to find 
little beyond punctuation-slips. The printing of the 
original text is extremely faulty, and the i escapes ' noted 
below, are nearly all inadvertent reproductions. The 
Reader will please correct the following before perusal : 

Page 43, foot-note 4. By oversight, reference to the 
"Welcum to Bernard Stewart" and 'Elegy' of the 
famous Scottish poet, William Dunbar, was omitted here. 
See his < Poems' by David Laing Esq., LL.D., [2 vols. 
8vo. 1834 : and supplement 1865] — where interesting 
details concerning this " Elour of Chivalry" are given, 
including a quotation from " Bosworth-Field :" Yol. I. 
p 129—134, and relative "Notes," pp 311—315. 

Page 59, line 6th, a period not comma, after Queene. 

Page 62, line 2nd, a comma after yeeld. 

Page 142, line 21st, place — after containes, and remove 
from commencement of next line. 

Page 170, line 1 5th, read ' Will make 9 not ' take 9 . 

Page 176 title of poem: as noted in Contents, insert 
1 Lady ' before Marquesse. 

Page 189 line 10th, read league. 

Page 242, line 10th, a period after sides. 

Page 245, line 14th, comma after family. 

Page 260, line 12th, spell certaine. 

Page 268, foot-note, read 190 for 120. 

Page 270, line 11th, place comma not period after hower. 

Page 281, line 2nd, place comma after same. 

Page 312, foot-note 2, spell translated. 
and perhaps some other mis -pointings : on all which, 



actual and possible, I add from a " Brief Chronology : 
1600 to 1660 " (anonymous) this ' Candido Lectori ' : 
Mend — friendly Reader — what escapes amiss, 
And then it matters not whose fault it is : 
For all men sinne, since Adam first transgre3t, 
The printer sinnes, I sinne, much like the rest : 
Yet here our comfort is, though both offend, 
We to our faults can quickly put an 


6 6 9 


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